romance died an abrupt death six months before the Olympics. In subsequent interviews, Dayna had turned aside the inevitable questions about her love life with a laugh and vague references to the difficulty of sustaining a long-distance relationship. There had been no lack of men in her life in the years since, but none had lasted long or generated the kind of intense media interest as her first and very public love.
“I can have Harper transferred off the base if you think he might compromise this op in any way,” Lightning told her. “Just say the word.”
Rogue had been in the business too long to dismiss the suggestion without giving it serious consideration. Lips pursed, she examined the issue from all angles.
“The only problem I see is if the media picks up on his presence and connects him to the Stealth Bombers.”
“Security at the base is airtight. As far as the general public knows, the USAF personnel stationed there are attached to the RAF fighter wing as part of an exchange program. I’m more concerned that Harper’s presence might impact your performance in the tournament.”
Rogue didn’t hesitate this time. “Breaking up with Luke Harper didn’t throw me off stride in the Olympics. After all these years, the mere fact that he’s stationed at an air base a few kilometers away isn’t going to affect my game.”
Which brought them around to another touchy subject, one Lightning suspected might generate even more sparks.
The Women’s International Pro-Am Charity Tournament was open to any amateur or professional golfer willing to put up the ten-thousand-dollar entry fee. While the main object was to raise money for the International Red Cross, it was still a competition. All entrants could play the first two qualifying rounds. Only those posting the lowest scores would make the cut for the final two rounds.
“Barring some unforeseen disaster,” he said, bracing himself for the explosion he knew would come, “Wu Kim Li will compete in the final rounds. We need to make sure you do, too.”
“Make sure?” Deep creases slashed into her forehead. “You’re not suggesting we rig the tournament, are you?”
“Not exactly.”
“C’mon, boss! I’ve never cheated in my life and don’t intend to start now. I know my golf game is a little rusty, but I’ll make the cut.”
“I’m sure you will, too. Assuming worst-case scenario, however…”
“There is no worst-case scenario,” Rogue countered stubbornly. “I will make the cut.”
“Assuming worst-case scenario,” Nick continued with unruffled calm, “we need to make sure you at least tie with the last-place finisher in the qualifying rounds so you both go on to the championship round.”
She didn’t like it. He could see disgust written all over her face. She’d come around, though. She understood the stakes in this game and would balance her sporting instincts against the needs of the United States.
It took a few minutes. Her teeth stayed locked. A muscle twitched in the side of her jaw. Her fingers drummed a furious tattoo on the console.
“Okay,” she finally conceded. “Assuming worstcase scenario, how do we pull it off?”
A rueful smile spread across Nick’s face. His wife, the guru of all things electronic for OMEGA and several other government agencies, had jumped at this challenge. Mackenzie was huddled with the wizards in OMEGA’S Field Dress Unit now.
“Mac is waiting for you upstairs. She’s been working on several devices.”
“Uh-oh.”
Uh-oh was right. Thankfully, FDU’s labs were sound-, shock wave- and bombproof. Its walls would contain the blast when Rogue saw what Mac and her diabolical geniuses had come up with.
Hours later, a fuming Dayna paced the first-floor reception area.
“You won’t believe what Mackenzie wants to stick in my golf bag! GPS-guided balls. Distance-finding sunglasses. A super-charged three iron, for God’s sake.”
Lightning’s temporary executive assistant sat behind her elegant Louis XV desk. Gillian Ridgeway, daughter of two of OMEGA’s former superstars, played a mean game of golf herself. Amusement and sympathy lit her blue eyes.
“You won’t need any of those aids.”
“Damn straight, I won’t.”
Jilly continued to make sympathetic noises until Dayna worked through her snit.
“Sorry,” the agent said with a wry smile. “I just needed to let off a little steam.”
“That’s what I’m here for.”
Actually, Gillian Ridgeway was there to fill in for Elizabeth Wells, longtime executive assistant to several of OMEGA’s directors. Elizabeth had undergone hip-replacement surgery the week after Jilly returned from a State Department assignment in Beijing. On leave from State and unsure whether she wanted to become a career bureaucrat, Jilly had offered to fill in for Elizabeth.
Black-haired, blue-eyed and as stunning as she was vivacious, she soon wrapped OMEGA’s male agents around her little finger. The female agents liked her, too, which said even more for her sparkling personality.
She and Dayna had grown especially close. The two women were almost the same age and both enjoyed sports. They teamed up for golf or tennis whenever Rogue was in D.C. and routinely skunked their opponents. They’d also shared a few locker-room secrets. So Dayna wasn’t surprised when Gillian made a too-casual observation.
“I understand Hawkeye is working this op with you.”
“That’s right. He’s flying in from Algiers. We meet up in Scotland.”
“Say hi for me, will you?”
“I will, but only if you promise to stop torturing the poor man.”
“Torturing him?” Gillian assumed an expression of wide-eyed innocence. “Moi?”
“Come off it, Jilly. You know you lay on a double dose of sultry whenever Hawk’s around. Despite that, he still thinks of you as the gawky teenager he taught to shoot.”
“Maybe,” she replied with a small smirk, “and maybe not. Just tell him hello for me.”
When Dayna hooked up with Hawk in her suite at one of St. Andrews’ venerable old hotels, she dutifully relayed the message.
“Gillian said to say hi. And you look like hell.”
Hawk shot her a surprised look from sunken, redrimmed eyes. “Jilly said that?”
“The last bit came from me. What happened in Algiers?”
“Sand, sand and more sand.” A smile slipped through the bristly beard sprouting on his cheeks and chin. “But we got Mustafa.”
Whooping, Dayna leaned across the coffee table to punch her fellow agent in the shoulder.
