“Do you have a weapon?” Ben demanded as gunfire exploded behind them.

Tory reached into her bag and took out the hunting knife her dad had given her.

A sound at the other end of the alley had her turning. She slipped away from Ben, farther into the shadows to give him a clear shot at the assailants. They let out a burst of semiautomatic fire and dove for cover.

Ben moved left and she took the right side. She watched him blend seamlessly into the darkness. She closed her eyes and focused her senses, listening for things that were out of place. She heard it then, the rustle of cloth against the building.

She just made out the silhouette of a man with an assault rifle crouched low to the ground, waiting for her or Ben to make a mistake.

As soon as he scanned away from her, Tory moved. Quickly she ran forward and attacked him from the back. Holding her knife to his throat, she growled, “Drop your weapon.”

Her grip slipped and the man lifted his gun.

MILLS & BOON

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Dear Reader,

I’m so excited to be a part of Athena Force again. Given the current climate in the world and the danger to journalists everywhere, I knew that Tory would be up for another adventure. And Ben is still trying to keep his macho instincts in check and figure out how to live with such an independent woman.

I was lucky enough to interview a local newscaster in Orlando, Florida, when I was researching Exposed, the first Ben and Tory adventure, so I used my notes on that as a starting point. I also researched the very hunky Anderson Cooper—oh, I mean the very reliable Anderson Cooper—to see how he covered the news. I liked the freedom that cable news channels have to send their reporters wherever news is happening, and I started at that point to come up with a new plot for Tory. I wanted her to be conflicted about having gotten what she always wanted…her own news show. That was based on my own experience in wanting something really badly and then getting it and finding it wasn’t what I thought it would be.

The country of Berzhaan is fictional, but it is loosely based on Azerbaijan, a country that is struggling to find its feet after years of Communist rule. It was interesting to me to read about the economy and the companies that were building there, many with familiar names like McDonald’s!

Returning to Ben and Tory also gave me a chance to look at their relationship and to see if it would last past the initial attraction. They both have demanding jobs, like many couples I know. Two careers are hard on any couple and I wanted to explore that. I hope you enjoy this adventure with Tory and Ben and their Athena Force friends.

Enjoy!

Katherine

Exclusive
Katherine Garbera

Special thanks and acknowledgment are given to Katherine Garbera for her contribution to the ATHENA FORCE miniseries.

KATHERINE GARBERA

is the award-winning, bestselling author of more than twenty-five books. She started making up stories for her own benefit when she was on a competitive swim team in high school. Katherine holds a red belt in the martial art of Tae Kwon Do and vows that there’s not a piece of plywood out there that can take her in a fair match! Readers can visit her on the Web at www.katherinegarbera.com.

To my kick-ass gal pals—Beverly Brandt, Eve Gaddy,

Nancy Thompson and Mary Louise Wells—who make

the adventure of writing such a fun one.

Acknowledgments

A huge thank-you to Cindy Dees for answering every question imaginable pertaining to the military and for doing it so quickly. Any mistakes are my own.

Also thanks to all the writers in the Slave Away Café whose shared company made it easier to write this book!

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 1

Ben Forsythe was having a crappy day.

He’d been in meetings virtually all day and now, when he finally had a free moment to dial Tory Patton’s number, he got her voice mail. He rubbed the back of his neck and almost hung up without leaving a message. He couldn’t tell her where he was, didn’t know when he could call again. But he needed to hear her voice. Needed for just a second to remember who was waiting for him at home.

“Babe,” he said, just to needle her, “it’s me. Don’t know when I’ll be able to call again. Be good.”

He hung up. He had e-mail available but seldom used it because his team was always on the move and he didn’t want to leave an electronic trail of where they’d been.

It was dry and blazing hot in late June in the desert of Berzhaan and he was sick to death of sand. He shaded his eyes and wished for a minute that he was a different man. The kind who could walk away and never look back. The kind who could blithely go about his everyday life and never know that there were men and women who were risking their lives to enable that.

But he wasn’t.

Ben’s father had been an undercover CIA agent, a man whose government’s only acknowledgment of his death overseas while on an assignment was a star and a date on a wall. Ben was starting to think that he wanted more than that at the end of his days.

He entered the makeshift command center and awaited his orders. He worked for a covert military group called LASER, the Lost Airman’s Service. Their mandate was simple and focused—they rescued servicemen who were being held prisoner in hostile places. They used whatever means were necessary to bring them home.

With the help of AA.gov, a Web site and organization whose main function was to keep alumni of the Athena Academy for the Advancement of Women in touch with one another, but whose covert side included certain spy missions, he’d embedded one of his men with a television news crew. The lead reporter, Andrea Jancey, was Tory’s protégé at UBC. She and Tory had both attended the prestigious Athena Academy. Andrea had the same skills that Tory did, which meant she could handle herself in almost any situation. Ben had a lot of respect for the Athena grads he knew, including his own sister, Alex.

For this mission, Ben was using Andrea and her news crew to get close to the insurgents fighting in the desert of Berzhaan. His intel had identified a group under Kemeni rebel leader Al Ahib as having captured two Marine pilots. The Kemeni were down in strength at the moment, but highly uncooperative with the U.S. Ben’s team was in country to get the pilots out. He had a small team of seven men. They’d worked together for a long time and knew each other well.

“Any word from Manning?” he asked Lewis Salvo, their communications guru. Salvo managed the satellite, navigation/GPS and emergency radios. Ben had seen him coax a waterlogged radio back into action. If anyone could raise a signal on Manning, it was Salvo.

Salvo didn’t glance up from the frequencies he was monitoring on their personal radios. “Nothing yet, he missed the last check-in.”

Ben leaned over the shoulder of Robert O’Neill, their computer expert. O’Neill was using satellite images to search the location where Manning should have been, as well as running a GPS trace. Everyone on the LASER team had a GPS homing beacon in their cell phone. Manning’s cell was still in country, but not where it should be.

The itch at the back of Ben’s neck said that his crappy day was about to get worse. And there was nothing he could do but wait for Manning to check in.

What the hell was going on?

“Sir, I think you should see this.”

Ben turned to O’Neill, who was monitoring the cable news networks as well as watching all the satellite monitors. Ben leaned over his shoulder. Shannon Conner appeared on the screen, her blond hair windblown and her brown eyes more worried than usual.

Ben knew Shannon through Alex and Tory. They’d both gone to school with Shannon at Athena Academy. Shannon had the distinction of being the only student ever to be expelled from Athena. He knew that she and Tory didn’t get along. Though Tory wouldn’t say why, Ben had always suspected it went deeper than mere competitiveness.

“ABS News sources have learned that UBC reporter Andrea Jancey, a UBC translator and a cameraman have been taken hostage in the small Middle Eastern country of Berzhaan. Here is the exclusive video that we’ve obtained.”

Shannon’s image faded to be replaced by a video feed that showed Andrea, Paul Manning—Ben’s man—and Cobie McIntire.

The three said nothing, only held a copy of that day’s newspaper underneath their faces to show the date. Andrea was a tall, curvy blonde. Normally she was perfectly put together but in the video her tailored suit was ripped and she had a bruise along the side of her face. Paul’s nose was bleeding, and his cropped black hair looked matted on one side with blood or sweat. Cobie, a tall, lanky guy with shaggy brown hair, just looked shocked. The video went black and Shannon was once again back on the screen.

“ABS News will be following this story and will keep you up to date.”

Ben tossed the headphones down and paced back to the command center. Well, now they knew why Manning hadn’t checked in. “When was this video shot?”

Robert and Lewis both scrambled to get the information. Ben cursed under his breath. He had to contact his commanding officer and plan what to do next. Manning was part of Ben’s team…more than that, he was a friend. Ben’s gut said to go after him immediately.

But he couldn’t make that type of decision without orders. He put a call in to his CO and set up an in-briefing with the field general in Berzhaan. Ben knew that their mission wouldn’t change in essence—they still had to find those two Marine chopper pilots who’d gone down in the mountains. Now, they also had to retrieve Manning and the TV crew he’d been using as cover.

As soon as she realized that Andrea Jancey had been taken hostage, Tory Patton went into action. She phoned her boss and made an appointment to see him.

Tory had convinced Andrea to come to the United Broadcasting Company. She felt personally responsible for the young woman whom she’d been mentoring in the television news business. She’d steered Andrea away from risky assignments and trained the girl to keep a cool head. Now Andrea was in danger, and Tory needed details.

Andrea’s field producer, Joan Simpson, was still in Suwan, the capital of Berzhaan. Tory spent ten minutes on the phone with her, ascertaining the situation and getting what information she could. She jotted notes on the paper in front of her, a quick list of facts plus the news that ABS had reported. That Shannon Conner had reported. Damn.

Next she put in a call to Jay Matthews, her favorite cameraman.

“What can I do for my favorite reporter?” Jay asked with an edge to his voice that hadn’t been there before their time together in Puerto Isla nearly two years ago. Before he’d pushed her for a personal relationship and she’d had to turn him down. The assignment on which she’d met Ben.

He’d asked for a transfer overseas and had been covering the ongoing military action in the Middle East. She wanted him by her side, if she could convince Tyson to send her to Berzhaan. “Did you hear about Andrea and Cobie?”

“Yes, what have you heard?”

“Shannon was just on with a breaking story. I’m going to see Tyson in a few minutes.”

“If you get him to send you, I’ll work with you on this. I’ll dig around and see what I can find for you until you get here. Even if they send someone else. Damn, I can’t believe ABS broke the story on our own missing reporter.”

“Pisses me off, too. Thanks, Jay.”

“No problem, Patton.”

She disconnected the call, turning to her computer. She sent an e-mail to Cathy Jackson in UBC research.

Cathy—

Please pull together whatever you can on Andrea Jancey and Cobie McIntire and their last known coordinates. Find out any information on who their contacts were and what story they were following. Thanks, Tory

She also placed a called to Yasmine Constanine to see if she would be amenable to anchoring the show while Tory was in the field. She then e-mailed her producer, Shawna Townsend, and ran the proposed idea past her. Shawna soon replied with the green light. Now all Tory had to do was get Tyson to go for it.

She camped in her boss’s office for twenty minutes making small talk with Anita—Tyson Bedders’s secretary—while they waited for him to return from a meeting. As soon as he saw Tory, he groaned.

“Not now, Patton.”

“Yes, now, Tyson. I need to go to Berzhaan and find out what happened to Andrea.”

“We’re on it. You have a show now, and anchors don’t go into the field.”

It was the same argument he’d used to keep her from covering hurricanes last fall and from heading to London after a terrorist attack. To be honest, she was sick of being an anchor. Sure it had been her dream, but she had to admit that dream had been based on reaching a goal that had seemed far off more than on understanding what it entailed. “Then take me out of the anchor spot.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. Tyson was a tall African-American man with one of the sharpest minds in the business. He was the kind of boss that most people dreamed of having, and Tory didn’t like to put pressure on him.

She followed him into his corner office. “Okay, so what’s the scoop? Why did ABS get the story before us? This is one of our people.”

“Shannon Conner was already in Berzhaan and the terrorists sent the video to her.”

“Well, it’s an interesting move on their part, to take one of our reporters.”

“Yes, it is. Did you hear their demands?” he asked.

“Not yet. As soon as I heard the news I started working on getting down there to find Andrea and Cobie.”

“I haven’t approved that yet, Patton.”

“Tyson, I’m the only one you can send. I know Andrea, I trained her. I know the way she thinks. I’ll find her.”

“Tory, you asked for this promotion, your own newsmagazine, and yet you’re always in my office wanting me to send you back into the field.”

She knew what he was saying. Understood that she wasn’t fulfilling the commitment she’d made to Ty and the network when she’d said she’d take the anchor position. But anchoring just wasn’t as exciting as she’d thought it would be, she craved the adrenaline rush that being in the field gave her. She missed the excitement and camaraderie of waiting at the assignment desk to see what kind of story she’d be given. She missed the unpredictability of always doing something new.

“What did they demand in exchange for the hostages? And who are ‘they,’ by the way?”

“The terrorists didn’t name themselves. It’s odd—no one knows if they’re Q’rajn, or part of the Kemeni rebels, or some new group. They want a total U.S. pullout from the region in three weeks time.”

“That’s not even realistic. There’s no way the government will go for that. They don’t bargain with terrorists, anyway.”

“We know.”

“Come on, Ty. Let me go down there and see what I can find. I’m the best investigative reporter you have.”

He rolled his eyes. “Every one of you thinks that. There’s no ego like the investigative reporter ego.”

She bit her lip, staying quiet. She knew her boss well enough to know that he’d give her a shot if she didn’t push him into a position where it didn’t look as if it were his decision.

“This has to be the last time you leave the anchor desk. Do you remember your latest contract negotiation, when you lobbied for this job? A show of your own where you could bring cutting-edge stories to the viewers at home?”

“I didn’t realize that I’d be bringing them stories that other people researched, Tyson. That’s not me. You know it’s not.”

“I know, Patton. That’s why I cut you some slack usually, but this has to end.”

She jumped up from her chair. “Of course, when I get back from Berzhaan, I’ll stay put.”

“I’m going to hold you to that.”

She nodded, knowing she was going to have make a few changes to make that happen. To be happy with the choices she’d made.

“I’ve already started working out the details for my trip. I hope to get out of town tonight.”

“You need to get your shots up-to-date. And don’t tell me they are. I had Anita pull your file before I went to my meeting. You haven’t even had your required yearly physical.”

“Ty, that’s a waste of time. I’m healthy has a horse.”

“Whatever. No examination, no Berzhaan. And I’m not budging on this. Immunizations and yearly physicals are mandatory for all staff members going out of the country.”

Tory added the exam to the growing list in her head of what needed to be done. She hated the time it would take. She needed to contact AA.gov to see if Andrea had been doing anything extra for them while she was in Berzhaan. Now Tory had to focus on a stupid physical. “I’m healthy, Tyson. You know I am. What if they can’t get me in?”

He reached for his phone and hit the intercom button. “Anita?”

“Yes, Tyson?”

“Does Ms. Patton have a doctor’s appointment this afternoon?” Tyson asked. He had a pen and pad of paper in one hand. He passed the pad to her.

“Yes, sir. With Dr. Waters in twenty minutes. She should leave now if she’s going to be on time.”

“Thanks, Anita. Do you have the address?”

Anita rattled it off and Tory wrote it down. She was going to really be pushing it to reach the doctor’s office on time. Tyson disconnected the intercom and raised one eyebrow at her.

“Thanks, Ty.”

He nodded. “Bring Andrea back and get the story. We can’t have our competition making us look like idiots.”

She left his office and went back to her own, grabbing her purse and her cell phone. She saw that she had voice mail, a message from Ben. He sounded tired, and hearing his voice made her miss him.

She’d seen a photo of him in the Daily Globe with two British heiresses at a polo match. Despite the fact that his family knew they were dating, to the rest of the world, Ben had to appear to be the playboy he’d once been. It was the perfect cover for him. She understood. Knew the job he did was demanding and worthwhile. Her twinge of jealousy at seeing her man wrapped around two tall beauties wasn’t something she should feel—but she did.

Voice mail wasn’t the same as talking to him. She missed him, and she didn’t like that. She wasn’t used to depending on anyone else and a part of her resented the way she felt about Ben. The hold he had over her emotions unsettled her, because it was something she couldn’t control.

But she didn’t have time to think about Ben or their relationship. She had a meaty story to sink her teeth into. This story was going to be the kind of challenge she’d been longing for, after sitting behind the anchor desk and interviewing politicians and heads of state.

Russ Dorn felt alive for the first time since he’d received the news that his only son, Private First-Class Thomas Russell Dorn, had been killed in the line of duty in Berzhaan. The terrible weight that had pressed down on him every day, as he’d sat in front of his computer reading the newswire stories about the continuing effort to bring peace to an area that didn’t want it and the climbing death toll, had fed his own anger and need to do something.

In an Internet chatroom he’d found other likeminded individuals who had also lost children in the Middle East. They’d formed a loosely organized group, at first to support one another. Over time, it had grown into an action group. Their mission was to prevent other parents from having to experience what they did.

They’d been to Washington, D.C., too many times and had come away frustrated. The death toll from the Middle East action continued to rise, and the grief of the parents continued to grow. Nothing short of serious action would stop the deaths.

The door opened and Larry Maxwell walked in wearing desert camouflage and an AK-47 slung over his shoulder.

“The package has been acquired,” Dorn said. “We’re set to meet the rest of the team in-country.”

“Berzhaan. Damn. I never thought I’d leave the U.S.A. again,” Larry answered. “Well, this place looks good. We’ve got to move if we’re going to make our rendezvous. My plane’s waiting.”

Larry had more money than God. He’d arranged the difficult parts of their transport, namely, getting in and out of countries with the hostages.

“Just wanted to be sure we had everything ready before we brought ’em here.”

“This place is just as you said.”

This place was empty, much like his life had become. Russ remembered that when Betty had been alive it had been a comfortable retreat. Not anymore.

Larry nodded. Both men walked through the room one more time before stepping outside. The desert was hot and dusty, different from places where he’d seen action when he’d been in the military years before. The desert terrain didn’t even come close to resembling the jungles of Southeast Asia, but being with these other men and functioning together as a unit brought that memory into focus.

He rubbed the back of his neck and looked at the small hunting shack that he’d had on his property for more years than he could count. Larry went around back to double-check that area, and Russ fought against memories of the first time he’d brought Tommy out here. Damn. Sometimes he could still see his son on the ramshackle front porch, leaning against the beam and watching the sun rise over the great expanse of desert.

Betty had given the place little touches of home, a Marine Corps sun catcher in the window, pretty handwoven Navajo rugs on the floor. Russ hadn’t been able to remove the reminders of his late wife. They were dusty and weathered with age, but he didn’t care.

His mind still had a hard time understanding how he could have survived three tours in ’Nam but his son hadn’t lasted a week on his first deployment. It wasn’t right that Russ should live after facing fire so many times and young Tom didn’t.

He shook off his grief and focused instead on the job he had to do now. He and Larry climbed into his old Ford pickup. The truck had seen better days, much like Russ himself. He drove unerringly over the desert where there was no track or road to speak of. Just a big barren empty landscape. A place that hid a million dangers. Poisonous snakes, plants, insects. Not one had ever harmed his son.

Russ felt tears burn at the back of his eyes and his anger grew as he approached the private landing strip. He had his doubts that this course of action was the right one but at the end of the day, sitting around and waiting for someone else to step in was too much.

Besides, if he sat alone in his house for one more day, he was going to give in to the temptation to swallow the barrel of his old six-shooter. And Russ wasn’t ready to give up his life yet. Not until he’d exhausted all avenues of getting the U.S. military out of Berzhaan. That wouldn’t bring his boy back, and he knew it. But taking action, doing something constructive for a change, was what he needed to do to finally move past the mind-numbing routine of raising the American flag and then visiting his son’s grave every day.

Chapter 2

Tory dialed Ben’s cell number from the cab on her way to her doctor’s appointment. She knew it was a longshot but since she knew that Ben was in the business of rescuing hostages, she hoped he’d be able to help with Andrea.

His phone rang only once before it was answered. “Forsythe.”

Ben had a deep, sexy voice that she never quite got used to. It was hard to imagine the man she once thought of as a fluff-brained society boy turning her on just by saying her name, but it happened.

“Hey, it’s me.”

“Hello, me. Did you get my voice mail?”

She really missed him. But she’d never let him know. Knowing her own independent spirit, she’d fought to keep a distance between them, but lately it was growing harder. She wanted to feel his arms around her in the middle of the night.

“Yes, I did. I thought we talked about you not calling me babe.”

“Must have slipped out. Are you calling to chew me out for that?”

“No, that’s not why I’m calling.”

“Why are you calling?” he asked.

She didn’t know where he was or what he was doing. And at first, that hadn’t bothered her, because her job was demanding and she couldn’t really talk about it, either. But lately her mother had started to notice Ben’s playboy-cover pictures, and she’d told Tory she didn’t understand how the man she’d met last Christmas could be so into her daughter and still be seeing all those other women.

“Andrea Jancey has been taken hostage by some terrorists.”

“I’ve heard.”

“I’m going to Berzhaan to do some investigative reporting.”

“Tory, don’t come—don’t go there. The country isn’t stable.”

“Neither was Puerto Isla, but I came out of there fine.”

“Barely,” he said.

She wasn’t going to argue with him. “I have a job to do.”

“I thought you were an anchor.”

“I am. But Ty thought I was the best person for this story.”

“I don’t. It’s dangerous.”

“Good thing you’re not my boss. Your job is no walk in the park, but you don’t hear me telling you to stay home.”

He sighed. She heard it over the connection and suspected he was running his hands through his thick, dark hair, something he always did when she frustrated him.

“I didn’t call to fight with you,” she said. “I want your help.”

“With what?” She heard the caution in his voice.

“Finding Andrea. I thought maybe you could—”

“No. We don’t get involved with civilians.”

“But she’s a friend, Ben. She was like my little sister at Athena. I mentored her, recommended her as UBC’s Berzhaan correspondent.”

“Babe, it’s not your fault she was taken.”

“I know that. Really I do, but she wouldn’t be there if it weren’t for me. I have to do what I can to help her.”

“You’re going to be stubborn about this, aren’t you?”

“I don’t think of it as stubborn,” she said. It was her job to get to the bottom of situations like Andrea’s. To find out exactly where her friend was.

“Can you please just let this go?”

What exactly was he asking her? Even Ty, who wanted her in the anchor chair, understood why she needed to go after this story. And Ben, who supposedly knew her better than her boss, should understand. “No.”

“Dammit, woman. Sometimes you make me crazy.”

She could tell he was trying to get them back on track. Away from the fight they both were dancing around, but she wasn’t ready to backpedal and say that everything was okay.

“Too bad.”

“Tory…”

“I can’t just let you blow this off like it means nothing. This is what my job is. I can’t refuse assignments because you think they might be dangerous.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“You like my job as long as I stay in New York while you go jetting around the world. I’m not a slippers-and-martini-holding kind of woman.”

“I know that.”

“Then act like you understand what it means.”

He said nothing for a moment and the cab pulled to a stop in front of the doctor’s office. She paid the driver and stepped onto the sidewalk.

“Listen, I’ve got to go.”

“Babe…understanding your job isn’t the problem. I have a hard time thinking of you in danger and me not being there to save you.”

“I don’t need you to save me.” She’d spent her entire life proving that she didn’t need anyone, afraid to let any person glimpse her vulnerabilities and insecurities. But she feared she needed Ben. He was the only man she’d ever really felt comfortable being herself around. The only man she’d let see the real Tory.

“But I need to. It’s part of my makeup.”

She understood that about Ben. She liked the fact that he did want to protect her. But that didn’t mean she’d avoid danger to please him. “Get over it.”

“I’m trying. I really am.”

She knew that. She loved him for it. The way he fought against his own instincts because he knew that she didn’t like it when he acted all macho. “Do you want to know my travel plans?”

“Hell.”

“Is that a yes or no?”

She entered the building and took the elevator up to Dr. Waters’s office. She signed in and found a seat in the corner, still waiting for Ben to respond.

“I guess that’s a no.”

He cursed savagely and she just waited, knowing he was fighting the same battle within himself that she always waged. They were both so strong-willed that their relationship wasn’t smooth sailing for either of them.

“Ben?”

“It’s not a freakin’ no. Yes, tell me when you’re leaving for Berzhaan. I’m going to be out of radio range for the next thirty-six hours. E-mail me your schedule.”

“I will,” she said, hating the feeling in her stomach that came from this new discontentment between them. It had been growing lately and she knew she was to blame. She wanted more from Ben but was afraid to ask for it. She could handle the toughest assignments, ask the hard questions of politicians and world leaders, but she had no idea how to ask Ben for what she wanted.

“Be safe,” she said, quietly.

“You too,” he said, and disconnected the call.

The capital city of Berzhaan wore its Russian influences well. Old and majestic, the architecture harkened back to a more civilized age. Ben rubbed the back of his neck as he ducked out of the busy foot traffic and into a familiar fast-food establishment where he was to meet his contact.

No matter what he might want to believe about a more graceful age, he knew that men like him had always been around and that fighting was something that had come naturally to this land in every age. There was something wild and untamed about the Middle East. Something that made even the most determined atheist sense there was a higher force at play in this land.

Ben ordered a Big Mac and fries from the attendant in perfect Russian. Most of the locals spoke Berzhaani, which was derived from Arabic, and Russian, after the country’s long relationship with the former Communist nation. No matter where he was in the world, he could get a Big Mac, but there was still something a little weird about ordering one in Russian.

Ben found a table in the back of the restaurant and sat down. He opened the bag and prepared to wait for his contact. He’d just reached in to snag a fry when the clerk yelled out to stop him.

“Wait, sir. That is the wrong bag.”

Ben pushed to his feet and handed the clerk the bag he’d been given. The new bag was slightly heavier and Ben glanced inside to see a small yellow capsule nestled in with his super-size fries.

“Thanks,” he said to the clerk, and worked his way back out to the street. The last time he’d had fries had been with Tory in her apartment right before the start of this mission. They’d lain on the floor, watching another one of her favorite Tom Cruise movies and eating junk food.

He wanted to go back to New York, tie her to a chair and lock her in her apartment. He needed to know she was safe. She wouldn’t understand it and he wasn’t ever going to let her know it, but she made what he did worthwhile. Knowing that she was safe while he saved the world, or at least a small portion of it, made it easier for him to sleep at night. And he didn’t want her anywhere near Berzhaan.

The Kemeni rebels had scattered after their defeat and the death of their leader Tafiq Ashurbeyli, during their takeover of Suwan’s capitol building last February, but they were still out there. The last thing Ben wanted was for Tory to come here and start poking around.

The woman had a real talent for finding the truth and she never stopped once she was on the trail of a story. Should he have told her he’d be going after Andrea? Would she have listened to him and stayed in Manhattan? He doubted it.

He pocketed the capsule and blended into the throng of people on the street. He wanted to examine the information he’d been given, but he knew he couldn’t out here.

A late model car pulled to a stop next to him. Ben identified Salvo and slid into the car. Salvo pulled away from the curb.

“How’d it go?”

“Smooth.”

“Does anything ever not go smoothly for you?”

He thought of Tory and the constant frustration he felt at not being able to get through to her. He thought of his sister and the way she treated him as if he were letting down the family name with his globe-trotting ways. And his mother, who was disappointed that he still hadn’t found himself an heiress and settled down. His personal life was one constantly changing mess.

“Yes. But only temporarily,” Ben said. He had an image to keep up, especially around his men.

He palmed open the capsule and removed a tiny microdisc, passing it to O’Neill, who sat in the backseat. His small laptop computer was up and running, receiving information and dissecting it.

“This should be the coordinates of the rebel camp. Plug those in with Manning’s last known location and the coordinates of the downed chopper.”

“I’ll have a location for you in a minute. I thought that the Kemenis disbanded after their attempt to take over Suwan last year.”

“For the most part they did, but the survivors are still ready to fight.”

“Any idea who the leader of the new movement is?” O’Neill asked.

Ben didn’t take his eyes off the terrain. “That’s not our mission, O’Neill.”

“It’d be nice to have the upper hand a time or two. Remember that FUBAR mission on Puerto Isla?” O’Neill asked.

“Hell, yes. What a fuckup,” Salvo said. “But Slick here got us through with no problems.”

“That’s what they pay me for,” Ben said.

They left Suwan, heading south out of town. The lights of the city dropped away behind them as they rode out into the barren landscape. The military unit they were entrenched with was about thirty miles away in the foothills.

The night closed in around them as they sped along the deserted highway. O’Neill worked on his computer in the backseat while Ben monitored the radio for updates. They’d had an in-briefing earlier in the day and they were still a go on retrieving the marines. The ROEs—rules of engagement—were to stay focused on getting the Marines out, to expect some hostile fire and to engage only if necessary. The CO didn’t expect them to sustain any causalities.

Suddenly a round of gunfire ripped through the night. Salvo cursed and floored the gas pedal and Ben pulled his firearm and returned fire. O’Neill did the same out of the other window.

The Kemeni rebels had been driven out of Suwan, but they still patrolled the roads and sometimes shot at cars to make their presence felt. This time they’d get a little more than they bargained for. Ben prayed they’d back off now that he and his men were returning fire. Last week, a group of missionaries had nearly been taken hostage when they’d stopped to change a tire, and Ben and his men couldn’t afford to talk nice to keep their own freedom. It was kill or be killed.

The car sputtered. Salvo kept his foot on the gas, but they all heard the whine that signaled the radiator had been hit.

“We’ll dump the car and continue on foot,” Ben said.

“Yes, sir.”

Salvo steered them onto the shoulder and all three men got out of the car. The enemy gunfire had ceased, but the vehicle was DOA.

They fell into an easy formation, Salvo and Ben standing guard while O’Neill packed up his computer. They shot the gas tank and let the car burn, careful to stay out of the light cast by the flames. The car was registered to an attaché at the U.S. Military listening station. They didn’t need for it to be identified until the LASER team was out of country. This way the car could be reported as stolen.

“Ready to roll, sir.”

“Let’s move out.”

As they moved across the desert, all that Ben heard was a series of clicks on the radio. He’d been in a hundred situations like this one, but for the first time, as they made their way on foot back to the military base, he felt a churning in his gut that wasn’t excitement.

A churning that said that a man could die out here and his family might never find out what had happened to him. A churning that said maybe his luck was finally running out now that he had someone to live for.

Tory got off the plane in Germany for a short layover, the news from her doctor’s appointment still churning through her head. Her cell phone beeped as soon as she turned it on. She glanced at the caller ID. Her mother seemed to have a built-in radar to know when to call.

Tory had sent her an e-mail saying she was leaving on assignment but not detailing what she was doing. Her parents tended to worry whenever she left New York. And right now she had news she just didn’t want to spill to her parents yet.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Hey, sweetie. Dad and I wanted to invite you to come down to the ranch for the Fourth. Derrick and his family are going to be here.”

“Just me?” she asked.

“Are you still with Ben?”

Tory sighed, not sure she’d ever really make her mother understand the complexities of that relationship. And not knowing how to tell her it had just gotten a lot more complex. “Yes, I am.”

“Of course we’d love it if he came with you,” Charlotte Patton said.

She loved the way her mom covered her own dislike of Ben by making it sound as if he’d be welcome. Tory had a sudden picture of Derrick and her dad taking Ben out to a remote area of the ranch and talking to him about commitment. She smiled to herself. There was something to be said for being the baby of the family and being surrounded by their love. Baby. Oh lord.

“We can’t make it. I’m on my way to Berzhaan to cover a story.”

“I knew it was someplace dangerous. As soon as I read that e-mail I said to Dad, look at the way she didn’t say where she was going.”

“Mom, it’s not dangerous. It’s a foreign assignment. The same as when I’ve been to Ireland or London.”

“It is not the same, Victoria. A news crew was taken hostage there.”

“That’s why I’m going. I’ll e-mail you when I have a chance.”

“Be careful, Tory.”

“I will.” If you only knew…. But this wasn’t the time.

“Tory?”

“Yes?”

“I…I’m sorry I asked about Ben like that.”

“Mom, it’s okay. I understand why you did.”

“Love you, honey.”

“Love you, too.”

She hung up the phone and entered the VIP waiting room. She powered up her laptop and focused on work, doing what research she could before she got to Suwan.

She tried to concentrate but her mind was filled with the news she’d gotten at the doctor’s office.

She was pregnant.

She’d tried to put it from her mind. It wasn’t as if she felt any different today than she had yesterday. She looked the same, had even spent precious minutes in front of her bedroom mirror trying to see some physical evidence of the baby that was inside her, but there wasn’t anything yet.

She’d almost told her mom, but how was she going to explain her pregnancy when she hadn’t had a chance to talk it over with Ben? And given her mom’s concerns about the relationship, about Ben’s picture always appearing in magazines and newspapers with gorgeous women….

She checked her e-mail and saw she had one from Alex.

I can’t get Ben to call me back, are you two going to be around on the weekend of Fourth? We want to see you.

Tory rubbed her head where she felt the beginnings of a bad headache. She and Ben both came from families who were tight and close, she thought. They shared that kind of upbringing and yet there was a part of both them that liked to be alone.

D.C. was closer than Florida and Ben’s family wouldn’t ask uncomfortable questions. Plus, lately, she suspected that Alex had realized there was more to Ben’s job than met the eye.

She swallowed hard. She was never really going to be alone again. She’d have a child with her for the rest of her days. A child.

The words echoed in her head and she felt her entire world spinning out of control. The world that she’d always kept carefully ordered was being filled with chaos.

Get hold of yourself, Patton. You’re an Athena grad, not some average wimp. She took a deep breath and pulled her Blackberry PDA/cellular phone from her pocket to check Ben’s calendar. He was supposed to be back in the country on Monday. The Fourth was on Friday so they might be able to see the Forsythe family.

But Tory wasn’t sure that she’d be back from Berzhaan by then. True, it was seven days away, but the timing might be too close.

Deep inside she knew she was being a coward, afraid to face Alex knowing that she was pregnant with Ben’s child. Afraid to be at a family gathering and know she was carrying the great-grandchild that patriarch Charles Forsythe craved. Afraid that she was going to have to come clean before she was ready to.

She e-mailed Alex a quick note cautioning her that they might not make it. She mentioned Andrea and the kidnapping, which Alex had undoubtedly heard about by now, and the fact that she was on her way to Berzhaan.

She e-mailed the three UBC field producers in Berzhaan with the information she’d pulled together so far and asked them to forward anything they had from Andrea. A producer hadn’t been assigned to Tory yet. She hoped that she’d get Joan Simpson, who’d worked directly with Andrea. At the very least she wanted to talk to the woman.

Tory was booked into the same hotel that Andrea had stayed in and planned to start looking for clues to her friend’s whereabouts there.

Her phone rang again. “Patton.”

“It’s Jay. I’ve spent all day roaming around Suwan looking for any locals who might have seen Andrea or know what story she’s been following.”

“Did you find any?” she asked, pulling out her notepad to take notes.

“One guy, but I’m not positive he didn’t have Andrea and Shannon confused. He said he saw the blond TV woman yesterday. I’m going to see if I can find anyone to corroborate that.”

What if Shannon had been the target? What if Andrea had been taken by mistake? Both women were similar in height and build. Tory made a note to find out what she could about Shannon and her reporting from Suwan.

“That’s something. Can you check out where she was and see what she was asking about? Maybe try to find a more reliable source? I’ll be there shortly and I’m going to want to roll as soon as I hit the ground. I’ve been in touch with the producers and they said Andrea had a hot tip about some sort of rescue mission. Did you get a lead on anything like that?”

“Not a word, but I spoke only to locals. I didn’t think there were any hostages until Andrea and crew got nabbed.”

“Me either. I’ll start digging on this end and see what I can find.”

“Sounds good. I’ll meet you at your hotel later.”

She turned her attention back to her computer and started looking through files, searching the wire and the databases she had access to.

Thirty minutes later she found what she was looking for. A unit of Marines had gone down in the mountains of Berzhaan when their helicopter was hit by enemy fire. Four men were rescued but two were missing.

She had a tingling in her stomach that she couldn’t ignore. Ben was in Berzhaan. Was he close to Suwan? Had he seen Andrea? Damn him for being so cool on the phone when she’d mentioned the incident.

What kind of relationship did they have?

She understood the need for secrecy. She wouldn’t betray him. When was he going to start trusting her?

Chapter 3

Russ Dorn didn’t like the heat in Berzhaan. It hung in the air in oppressive waves, making a man struggle to breathe. Their contact, a young Berzhaani named Momar, had brought robes for all of his team.

Russ shifted in his djellaba, not comfortable with the fabric draping over his camouflage. But he knew the importance of blending in. He stopped at the back of the large open-air market and rubbed some dirt into his graying beard to darken it.

He purchased enough kaffiyeh for all the men. He spoke in Barzhaani, which he’d learned through deep immersion at home, playing only the Suwan national television station and listening to tapes from Berzhaan.

He’d always had a gift for languages and he’d picked up Berzhaani easily, brushing up on his Russian as well. The language was now a part of him and as he stood in the marketplace letting the sounds flow over him, he felt himself becoming more Berzhaani. He felt it seep into his pores and he was ready for action.

Larry waited in a small alleyway with Jake Brittan and Rodney Petri, two other fathers who’d joined the group. This was Russ’s elite inner militia. Men who knew how to act in a combat situation and weren’t afraid of the risks. Frankly, the ROE on this mission meant there’d be casualties and Russ knew each of the men was unafraid to give his life for the cause.

They donned the kaffiyeh headgear and Russ thought they did a good job of looking like men of Islam.

“Do you have the address for us?” Russ asked Rodney.

“It’s on Sovetski—the name has been changed to something Berzhaani, but the locals still call it Sovetski. Its two klicks from the embassy in a small residential neighborhood. I’ve programmed the GPS coordinates into your devices.”

Russ nodded at Rodney. “We’ll meet there at sunset. Larry and I are going to secure local transport back to the plane. You two make sure we have the carpets needed to get our package out of Berzhaan.”

Rodney and Jake departed and Larry fiddled with his backpack for a minute before handing Russ a Stechkin APS Russian automatic handgun. Russ checked the gun and the clip. He took an extra ammo clip from Larry and tucked it into the back of his pants for easy access.

“You sure about this?” Larry asked. “Once we go in there, we can’t turn back.”

Russ looked the man in the eyes. Larry had been his buddy for more than twenty years and he didn’t want him chickening out before the mission barely got started. This was what too many years and too much grief did to a man. There was a time when Larry would have taken all of Berzhaan with an AK-47 and a few grenades.

“Yes. Are you?” Russ asked, holding his gun easily at his side. Casually he removed the kaffiyeh from his head and folded the scarflike garment into the right size and density for a silencer.

Larry turned his back to Russ and Russ lifted the gun and the cloth. Larry glanced over his shoulder at Russ, eyes widening and hands coming up in an “I surrender” gesture.

Larry took a step back. “Yeah, man. I’m sure. I want our kids back home where they belong, not in this godforsaken place.”

Russ continued to stare at Larry until beads of sweat dotted Larry’s forehead. Then he lowered his gun, tucking it into the large pocket in the middle of the djellaba. “Then let’s make sure they go home.”

Larry nodded. Russ retied his kaffiyeh and led the way out of the alley. They both were careful to blend in with the people on the street. He’d have to keep a close eye on Larry in case he decided he wanted out of the mission.

Both men moved through the street with the ease of pros used to blending in. They were both hunters, well aware of how to keep their prey from becoming aware of them.

Russ felt a surge of adrenaline. There was something to be said about being on a mission with his comrades at his side. They meandered through the city, which had seen too much fighting in recent years. It showed. Some neighborhoods were still intact but others were shelled-out hulls that used to house families that were probably dead.

Russ felt his determination to make this mission a success harden as they arrived on Sovetski and the house that Jake had indicated. The building reminded Russ of some of the pictures he’d seen of Moscow.

Jake and Rodney waited on the first floor landing of the older apartment building. The Kemeni soldiers they’d hired to obtain their package waited upstairs. Russ didn’t want trouble but he was prepared for it. These men had been bought once and could just as easily have sold them out.

“We go in hard.”

“Affirmative.”

All the men pulled their weapons as they slowly made their way up the stairs.

They entered the building and moved in single-file formation up the stairs. They were dark and dirty and smelled of rotting trash and urine.

Jake moved to the front and Russ covered him as the other man knocked on the third door.

“I’m here to see Uncle Fred,” Jake said in Russian.

“He’s still recovering from the car accident, he’ll be glad for the company,” a voice answered from behind the door.

A few seconds later the door opened inward and the men filed in, all of them keeping their weapons drawn.

“I am Jamal, welcome to my home.”

“Where’s the package?” Russ asked, still in Russian. He wasn’t here to make friends. They were on a short clock and needed to get in and out as quickly as possible.

“In a room in the back,” Jamal said.

Russ started toward the room. “Is there a guard in the room?”

“Two of my men.” Jamal edged down the hallway toward a closed door.

“Tell them to stand down,” Russ ordered.

Jamal switched to Berzhaani, calling out, “The men are here and they are armed.”

“You first, Jamal.”

Russ gestured with his gun and Jamal went into the room. Two men sat at a card table, weapons in close range. On the floor were the hostages. All three of them neatly bound, gagged and unconscious. Drugged, as ordered.

They all looked so young, Russ thought, especially the girl. Just like Tommy had. This girl could have been one of his girlfriends.

Russ carefully controlled his burning anger with the kidnappers—they were supposed to take that annoying sensationalist reporter, Shannon Conner, and give the hostage tape to this woman, Andrea something. Shannon was better known—her kidnapping would have put even more pressure on the White House. Just because the opposite had worked out didn’t mean he could let the men off the hook for their mistake. But for now, Russ would work with what he had. As every good soldier did.

The White House should be ashamed of the way it kept the military here in Berzhaan now that the Kemenis were not a threat. If they’d pulled the military back home, then this young woman and two men wouldn’t be here now. They’d be safe at home.

“Where’s the video camera?” he asked Jamal, this time in Berzhaani.

“In the corner.”

“Set it up. We want to make one more tape before we leave.”

The lobby of the Sheraton Suwan hotel was filled with reporters, and Tory kept an eye out for Shannon Conner. She had a history with the newsperson from the rival ABS network. For some reason Tory couldn’t explain, she and Shannon had never gotten along—not even before Tory had exposed Shannon in the scheme that had caused Shannon to be expelled from Athena Academy.

More than 15 years later, Shannon still held a grudge. She’d slept with Tory’s last boyfriend, Perry Jacobs, and almost gotten Tory killed on Puerto Isla in Central America.

Tory was leery of seeing Shannon, yet at the same time she wanted to know where the newswoman had been. Just in case Andrea had been nabbed by mistake.

“Tory Patton?”

Tory pivoted toward the voice. “Yes?”

“Dash McNamara. I’ll be your segment producer while you’re in Suwan. Welcome.”

She shook Dash’s hand. “Thanks. I’m all checked in. I think we’re supposed to be reporting live in less than forty minutes.”

“You’re correct. I’ve already scouted a few locations for the remote broadcast that are away from the hotel. Most of the networks do a nightly broadcast from the balcony overlooking the city, but I know you like to be different.”

Tory smiled at him, impressed that he’d done his research. “What can I say? I don’t like to be part of the crowd.”

“You never could be,” he said, leading her through the people in the lobby. Jay lounged against the wall, cigarette in one hand, camera bag in the other. Next to him was a kid who looked too young to be working in their business.

“I believe you know Jay Matthews. And this is Sal Martini, my PA.”

Tory hugged Jay, glad to see her old friend here. He smelled of cigarettes and coffee. The scent overpowered her for a minute and she battled a wave of nausea. Damn, she’d almost forgotten about her pregnancy until her stomach reminded her. Jay held her longer than he should have, but it had been a long time since they’d seen each other, so she didn’t mind.

She shook Sal’s hand.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Patton,” Sal said. “If you need anything just let me know.”

“If you give Sal your bag and laptop, he can store them until we return to the hotel,” Dash said.

Tory handed over her laptop bag and her suitcase but kept the big messenger-style bag that she always carried. She had notes and notepads in there, pens and minirecorders. Everything she needed to work.

She followed the men out of the hotel into the steamy June day.

A small Renault was parked in the lot to the side of the building. She noticed crumbling mortar and cracks in the wall. The city of Berzhaan was in desperate need of rebuilding.

“Were you working with Andrea?” she asked Dash.

“Not directly, but I produced one of her segments. On the day she disappeared, she left to scout an area for the evening report and never returned.”

“What was she covering?” Tory asked as Jay held open the door to the car for her. She gestured for him to climb in the backseat. He winked at her as he did so.

Dash didn’t answer. He got behind the wheel, started the car and drove toward the east side of the city.

“What was Andrea working on, Dash?” she asked again once they were on the highway leading down toward the port.

“The story of some U.S. Marines who have been missing for almost a week. The rest of the unit was rescued from the mountains on the border between Berzhaan and Afghanistan, but two men are still missing.”

“Was Andrea close to finding out if they were alive?” Tory asked. She pulled her notebook out and started making notes. She thought better on paper.

“Not the last time we spoke. She said she was stopping in a local neighborhood to check a lead, then she and the crew were headed to the foothills of the mountains to give her report from there. Her cameraman, Cobie McIntire, was with her, and a translator.”

“Did she have her Blackberry with her?” Tory asked, knowing that the network made sure to track all their foreign correspondents with a GPS unit in their phones.

“Yes, she did. We checked that first thing. The unit has been destroyed, but we have the times and coordinates of her final movements.”

Tory’s heart clenched in fear for her young friend. As an Athena graduate, Andrea knew how to handle herself in the real world. But this wasn’t an everyday situation.

Dash eased the car onto the shoulder and gestured toward the Caspian Sea. “This is one of the locations I found. There’s an outcropping that’s big enough for you and Jay to stand on and shoot.”

Tory looked at the sea. She didn’t even know what she was going to say tonight. “I need to talk to officials and get up-to-the-minute information.”

“How would you like an on-air interview with the lead investigator from the Berzhaani police?”

“I’d love it. Where are we meeting him?”

“Right here, in about ten minutes,” Jay said. “Stop teasing her, Dash, and give her the stuff we gathered today.”

Dash handed her a small sheaf of papers. She started reading them, effortlessly committing the facts to memory.

Jay leaned forward. “I’m getting out,” he said. “I want to double-check the area where we’re shooting.”

Tory got out of the car as well and leaned against the hood, reading the report that had been filed and the few clues the police had uncovered. Shortly after the kidnapping, the vehicle Andrea and her crew had been driving had been used for a suicide bombing at a military checkpoint at one of the border crossings into Afghanistan.

She prayed that Andrea was still alive, and hoped her friend hadn’t been in the trunk of the car that been used as a weapon against Berzhaan.

“Do we know if the car blew up after the tape was shot showing them alive?”

“Not yet. We obtained a copy of the tape and the guys in editing have been analyzing it to ensure its validity.”

Tory closed her eyes and searched for the story she’d tell on the news. The facts were foggy. No one knew too much. She had a number of pointed questions for the lead detective on the case. “Is anyone from the American embassy involved in the investigation?”

“Yes, but they won’t talk to us on air or off.”

“CIA?”

“I’m not sure. We’re poking around where we can, but they warned us strongly to back off.”

“I’ll see what I can come up with,” Tory said. She planned to track down Ben and find out exactly what was going on with Andrea, her crew and the two missing Marines. There was definitely more here then met the eye.

After the shoot, Tory left Jay and Dash in the hotel lobby and went to look for Joan Simpson, Andrea’s producer.

The police investigator had put a nice spin on the story, telling Tory on-camera that the investigation showed definite progress and off camera that he had men undercover following leads.

Jay had chain-smoked during the ride back and Tory felt a little sick. Since smoke had never bothered her before, she had to believe that her pregnancy was responsible. She was barely six weeks along, and already the pregnancy was affecting her life.

She really hated feeling so out of control. After she talked to Joan, she was going on the Internet to research pregnancy. She’d find a way to manage this the same way she did everything else.

She was standing against one of the columns breathing in the clean air when she saw Joan. The tall brunette was a few years older than Tory but looked as if she’d aged at least ten years since Tory had seen her nine months earlier.

Joan sat in the corner of the bar, a glass of rye whiskey on the table in front of her. No sissy girly drinks for Joan, who’d started in the sports department and proved herself to be one of the guys.

Tory pulled the strap of her purse higher on her shoulder and approached Joan.

“Can I join you?” Tory asked.

Joan glanced up. “Sure, Tory. What’s up?”

“I wanted to talk to you about Andrea and Cobie and their translator, do you mind?”

“Not at all. I keep thinking about them. Why didn’t I see the danger before I sent them out?”

“No one could have predicted this.”

“True, but that doesn’t make sleeping at night any easier.” Joan took a sip of her whiskey. “What do you want to know?”

“Where she’d been the last few days and what stories she was following.”

“Well, she did all her live reports just outside the city in the desert region. Do you have a map?”

Tory pulled one out of her bag and set it on the table. Joan took the pen from Tory and marked the spot. “The station has a few cars in the motor pool—see Stan and he’ll give you something to drive if you decide to go.”

Tory nodded. Since Andrea and her crew had frequented that spot, the hostage takers could have predicted when she’d arrive and who would be with her.

“Next I’d look for a woman named Alaleh. She works in the open-air market, right here,” Joan said, marking another spot on the map. “She’s a rug merchant’s wife. Alaleh has been very outspoken on the way women are treated here despite the American influences. She might be able to help you, but you can’t see her until tomorrow morning.”

Tory remembered that Andrea had done several stories on that topic. Because of the nature of the demands from the people holding her and the others hostage, Tory feared that America’s influence over women in this region might have instigated the kidnapers going after Andrea.

“Is that it?”

“No, there’s one more spot. Here.” Joan marked an area a distance from Suwan near the mountain range that bordered Afghanistan. “This is near the insurgent camp in the mountains where we suspect the Marines are being held.”

Tory stared at the map. “I called the press office for the Marine Corps to get some additional information from them, but they only referred to what they’d said in their press release.”

“Andrea talked to someone else, I don’t know who. The station had me box up all her notes and personal things. They’re in the news suite—do you want to see them?”

“Yes,” Tory said, and Joan finished her whiskey and led the way out of the bar.

“Do you think Andrea and Shannon Conner look similar?” Tory asked, advancing the theory that had been bothering her since Jay’s comment about the blond reporter.

Joan stopped. “You know, they do. I never really thought about it before.”

“Someone made a comment to Jay about the blond reporter, which got me thinking. Shannon and I aren’t really close enough for me to ask her what she’s been working on….”

“I’ll see what I can find out. Will you be in the hotel?”

“No, I’m going out after this. You can always reach me on my cell.”

The news suite was actually a quarter of the ballroom with partition doors around it to separate UBC from the other news networks. In a small, dark corner with pipe and drape surrounding it was the editing suite.

“Andrea’s stuff is over here.”

Joan led Tory to a small table that had a computer on it. A cardboard box lay on the floor under the table. “You can use this area while you’re here.”

Tory nodded to Joan and sat down in Andrea’s chair. Joan drifted off to talk to some others in the newsroom, and Tory let the sounds drift away until the conversations became background music. She turned on Andrea’s computer and booted it up.

She was tired. If only she could leave this for morning…but the terrorists who’d taken Andrea and her crew had only given the U.S. a few days to take action, and Tory didn’t want to waste any of that limited window of opportunity.

She dug around in the box, hoping to find something that would give her a lead. She sat up when the LAN log-in screen popped up.

“Joan?” she called across the crowd. “Do you know Andrea’s log-in?”

Joan walked back toward her. “I had the IT guys reset it. It’s AJancey for log-in, UBCBERZ for password.”

Tory typed it in. While the computer loaded Andrea’s page, she pulled out a small stack of manila file folders. None of them were labeled. Inside one, she found the notes for the stories Andrea had filed for Tory’s show, A Closer Look. They included interviews with Alaleh and a small group of women.

Tory put that file aside to take with her tomorrow when she tracked down Alaleh. She should be able to recognize the woman.

The next folder had clippings from the AP and Reuters on the Marine Huey that was shot down. She skimmed them but found nothing new in the press articles and no notes from Andrea.

She opened the Outlook e-mail program and read through Andrea’s recent messages. The list had several familiar e-mail addresses and one surprising one. She didn’t know that Andrea had started working for AA.gov.

Tory opened that e-mail with a feeling of trepidation. The message was brief and coded but Tory was familiar with the codes used by AA.gov, since she worked as a courier for the agency herself.

Andrea had been working on an assignment for the agency when she’d been taken hostage.

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