After a moment, Max stopped typing, closed his laptop, and set it aside. He looked over at her.
“What is it?” she asked, sounding a bit impatient. She knew her son. Something was bothering him.
“Why send Hunt?” Max asked. “He isn’t one of us. He doesn’t know how we operate. I could go to Turkey. I have contacts there.”
Triggs looked at her son. Max had been an infantry officer before joining the CIA thirteen years ago. He had spent ten of those years as an operative under nonofficial cover—NOC—in Turkey. His intelligence work had helped shape the past White House administration’s foreign policy in the Middle East and in Asia. Then something bad had happened. Something terrible. His pregnant wife, Zehra, a local teacher he had met through a friend, had been killed in a mass shooting at a nightclub by a gunman associated with ISIS. Max had wanted to go after the perpetrator—a demand Triggs had flatly refused. Max had lost his mind, ditched the cover he had built for himself, and without informing his CIA handler—or his mother—gone after the perpetrator and his affiliates. A month later, Max had shown up at her Langley office. She’d never asked him what he had done during his thirty-day off-the-grid ordeal, but she had a pretty good idea from the number of dead Turkish citizens linked to ISIS who’d popped up in and around Istanbul. Since his return, he had served two years as an instructor at the Farm—the CIA training academy—and one year as her right-hand man at the Directorate of Operations. Max was well liked by his peers and by almost everyone on the seventh floor at Langley. By keeping him close to her and involving him in the decision-making process of her directorate, she hoped he’d stick around and take her place at the top when it was time for her to retire.
“Hunt’s expendable, my dear. You’re not.”
Max grunted, clearly not satisfied with her answer. “At least pair him with another operator,” he suggested, reopening his laptop. “One of ours.”
“You have someone in mind?”
Max rubbed his chin thoughtfully, but Triggs wasn’t duped. Her son already knew who he wanted Hunt to be paired up with. Max was manipulating her, and that made her incredibly proud. The ability to manipulate people was an important asset in the spy business, and that was even truer at the strategic level Max was now working in. Her son was good at it, but she had been playing the game for much longer than he had. Max still had lots to learn.
“What about Harriet Jacobs?” Max asked. “She’s a great operator, and she’s good friends with Henican.”
Triggs shook her head. “She’s on an operation in Malaysia.”
“Not anymore,” Max replied. “I pulled her out.”
“Did you now?” She raised an eyebrow.
Max glared at her. “You already knew, didn’t you?”
“I’m the deputy director of the Directorate of Operations of the CIA, Max. It’s my job to know at all times where my clandestine operators are and what they’re doing. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Her son flashed her an insincere smile. “Of course.”
With the back of her hand, she slapped him on the shoulder. “You better, because in a few years, you’ll be DDO,” she said.
“So you think that partnering her and Hunt is a good idea, then?” Max asked.
“Absolutely. I’ve heard that Turkey’s Aegean coast is a happy choice for honeymooners. And so is Istanbul.”
Max laughed out loud. A rare occurrence nowadays. Her son had a wonderful, deep-throated laugh that reminded her more than a little of his father’s, a navy pilot who had perished at sea during a training exercise a decade ago.
“What’s so funny?” Triggs asked.
“Did you forget about Hunt’s girlfriend? Not sure Anna Garcia will love the idea of that particular cover story.”
“She’ll understand,” she replied, more or less convincingly.
“Should I set it up? Send Harriet Jacobs a warning order?” Max asked.
“Isn’t that what you’ve been doing all along? Show me what you have.” Triggs pulled Max’s laptop toward her.
It took Triggs longer than she expected to go through the file Max had prepared. Her son had once again surprised her. The document was detailed, precise, and thorough. He had designed an entire overseas operation, including a financial analysis of the cost involved and numerous contingency and disaster-recovery plans. He’d even added a list of potential support personnel who could increase mission success probabilities.
“Great work, Max,” Triggs said. “And good idea to pick Barry Pike and Colleen Crawford for support. They’ve worked with Hunt in the past.”
She took a minute to think about it. Sending Hunt and Jacobs to Turkey, supported by a small team that Hunt had already worked with and trusted, made sense. She’d have to keep working her regional contacts for additional intelligence, but at least she’d have people she could depend upon on the ground, ready to act.
“All right,” she finally said. “Approve transportation to Langley. Time is of the essence, but I want to brief them all personally.”
CHAPTER TWO
Palm Cay Marina
New Providence, Commonwealth of the Bahamas
Pierce Hunt rushed past Anna Garcia, gun still in hand, and climbed the steps to the second floor two at a time. He’d almost shot Dorothy Triggs when she’d shown up unannounced in his living room.
Almost.
“Would you calm down for a second?” Anna called after him. “Please.”
Hunt wasn’t ready to calm down just yet. Triggs’s unexpected visit had ruined the perfectly fine day he’d spent fishing with his sixteen-year-old daughter, Leila, on his new-to-him Cobia 296.
Why the hell hadn’t Triggs alerted him beforehand?
Because she knew you’d refuse to see her, Hunt thought, answering his own question. Her son, Max, though, had looked as annoyed with his mother as Hunt had been. Max hadn’t seemed thrilled to be there, either, but Hunt hadn’t had much time to form an opinion about him since he’d remained quiet through the conversation.
“Pierce!” Anna shouted, her voice finally breaking through his thoughts. “What are you doing?”
“I’m getting my go bag,” he said, opening the closet door. He pushed some clothes aside to reveal a fireproof safe embedded in a wall. He set the gun on top of it and entered a five-digit code, and the safe opened.
“You can’t be serious. It’s past midnight. Can we talk about this?” Anna wasn’t asking, and Hunt knew better than to ignore her.
He removed his go bag from the safe and turned to face her.
She was leaning against the doorframe of the master bedroom, her arms crossed, watching him defiantly with unflinching emerald-green eyes. Despite the chaos in his head and the urgency of the situation, Hunt was once again struck by Anna’s lustrous beauty, which seemed to be accentuated by her emotional upset. She had the body of a professional dancer, her figure slim but curvaceous. Her skin was tanned brown and smooth, and her loose dark hair fell down past her shoulders.
“I just want to talk for a minute,” she said kindly, taking a step toward him. “That’s all.”
Hunt studied her expression for a moment. Anna’s lips curved into a smile. She took another step. She was close enough that Hunt could feel the heat of her body. His heart contracted.