She shook her head at the enormity of what he was asking.
“I know…I know. It doesn’t feel right, does it?”
He sounded sad as he asked the question that needed no answer. “All I can say is that we have no other option. We have to stop these people. Think about 9/11. You would have done anything to prevent that disaster, just like I would have.”
“Are you talking about something that big?”
“Yes. Potentially worse. These aren’t migrant farm workers Jack Haden is smuggling from Mexico, Meredith. They’re terrorists from Syria. Every one of them is a member of Al Balsair.”
Meredith drew a deep breath at the name of the violent group. “That just doesn’t sound like the Haden I knew. Dammit, Dean, he’s the last guy I’d expect to get involved in something like this.”
Reynolds’s mouth tightened at her curse, just as her father’s would have. “My information is as reliable as information gets. Jack Haden’s turned and you have to take care of him. If you don’t, he’s going to help some of the worst terrorists alive get a free pass into the United States. I don’t want that happening on my watch, Meredith, and you shouldn’t, either. He’s a traitor.”
She gripped her cup and wished she had a flask of something—anything—that she could add to what was left of her coffee.
Jack Haden had been her boss at the Agency, but he’d been better in bed than behind the desk. Short and violent as a spring storm, their top-secret relationship had been chaotic and disastrous. Then Dean had called her into his office for that historic meeting and the Operatives, her team of specialists, had been born.
The night she’d informed Haden she was leaving the Agency, they’d had two hours of incredible sex, then afterward, when she’d revealed as much as she could about her plans, he’d thrown her out of his apartment. She’d been so unprepared for his reaction she’d ended up on his front porch clutching more of her clothing to her chest than she’d actually been able to get on her body.
She’d told herself the breakup had been bound to happen. Sooner or later, she and Haden would have killed one another. One would have shot the other or they would have screwed themselves to death. Sometimes, though, she wondered where the relationship might have gone. Haden had been an intriguing man with secrets that didn’t match the person she’d come to care for and the contrast had kept her interested far longer than normal. She would have figured him out eventually—but it might have taken her a lifetime.
“I brought Jack Haden into the Agency so believe me, this wasn’t an easy decision.” Reynolds toyed with the sugar packets. “I trusted him. But a lot of field officers end up this way. There’s money and excitement and deals to be made. South America is like a drawer full of candy to a smart guy like Haden, and he’s reached in and grabbed a handful.”
Meredith didn’t reply because she didn’t know what to say, a vague sense of discontent marring the loyalty she had always shown her mentor. “I just don’t know….”
Disapproval came into Reynolds’s pale gray eyes.
“I thought I could depend on you, Meredith. I helped you a lot when you were on the official payroll. I got you where you are right now.” He paused. “Surely you haven’t forgotten that, have you?”
“I haven’t forgotten anything you’ve done for me, Dean, and I never will,” she said slowly. “But Jack is one of us—”
Dean’s hand snaked out and captured her wrist before she could finish her sentence. She jerked her gaze to his face in surprise.
“He was but he isn’t anymore.” His voice turned fierce. His fingers squeezed painfully, then he released her and thumped the pile of black-and-white photos sitting on the tabletop between them. “This is what he’s become and you have a duty to see that it doesn’t go any further.”
Meredith picked up the photographs he’d already shown her, her hands shaking in spite of herself. The first one was a long-distance shot of Jack Haden and two other men. Their faces were grainy but clear enough. She knew who the terrorists were. She moved on to the second one. It showed Haden on a busy street kissing a dark-haired woman. According to Reynolds, the woman was a courier for Al Balsair. Haden had one hand around her waist and the other at her neck. The kiss was a serious one and it’d instantly reminded Meredith of the kind they’d shared. She swallowed hard and pushed the memory aside, her eyes going to the third shot. Obviously caught at a party, Haden had been snapped standing beside a blond man and they were engrossed in a conversation, oblivious to all around them.
She tapped the last picture, distracting herself from the one before it. “Tell me again about this Prescott fellow….”
“He works for a telecommunications firm out of Boston called Redman Cellular,” Reynolds said. “They’re bidding on a job to install a series of towers down there for cell phone communication. It’s easier than trying to get land lines to everyone. He went to Guatemala City two weeks ago. The last time his wife heard from him was three days later. Since then, not a word.”
“Have you talked to anyone at Redman?”
“I’ve spoken with Prescott’s boss several times.”
“No mention of a ransom?”
“He said no. He’s upset and worried, but at a loss to figure out what happened, or so he says. Everything seems normal on the surface.”
“But…?”
“But Redman Cellular’s name came through the system earlier this year with a yellow flag. The American companies that have contracts in the Latin quadrant are overworked and understaffed. They’re desperate to hang on to their deals so they’re sending people down there who aren’t anything but warm bodies. They don’t know what they’re doing, but their presence makes the locals think something’s getting done and it buys the companies more time.”
“But in the meantime, all anyone employed by Redman needs is a legitimate work visa and they’re free to travel between South America and North America. Regular round trips aren’t out of line—they’re expected.”
“Exactly.”
“Perfect setup for a mule.”
“You got it.”
Meredith shook her head in disgust. The bad guys made so much money here they had to have it physically transported to Latin America. The women and men who shuttled the money and goods back and forth were called mules. Lately, with all the advances that had been made in electronic eavesdropping, information and other pieces of intelligence were frequently hand-carried as well.
“He’d left his hotel in Guatemala City for Panajachel,” Dean continued. “That’s on Lake Atitlán. It’s a big tourist destination, but he never arrived.”
“Who contacted you about the case?”
“Someone at his hotel reported the incident and the Guatemala City police took it from there.”
She leaned closer. “You don’t generally deal with things at this level. Other than the flag on Redman Cellular, what makes Prescott so special?”
“Nothing,” he said bluntly, “except that
