Page 195 of Secrets Beneath the Waves
“Why did you run?” I say. “We just want to talk.”
Rourke looks around, as if still trying to find an escape route. “I thought you were someone else.”
“Who’s after you?”
“That doesn’t matter. Just tell me what you want.”
“Information,” Graham says. “Nothing more.”
“I’m sorry, but you have the wrong person.”
“I don’t think so,” I say as he tries to back away. “Chapel sent us.”
CHAPTER
THIRTEEN
[Ransom Countdown: 14 Hours, 44 Minutes remaining]
I catchRourke’s frown in the dimly lit gardens. He’s angry—his expression makes that clear—but I see something else reflected in his eyes. Fear. I glance around the grounds, now emptied of visitors—a stark contrast to the glittering party inside. The paths lie deserted, fountains are still, and moonlit shadows spill across dense hedges and frozen white statues.
Rourke takes a step backward. “I don’t know who you think I am, but like I said—you have the wrong person.”
He turns around, dismissing us, and walks away. I try to shake the uneasiness that has settled over me from events over the past twenty-four hours.
“Where do you want me to start?” I say, not even trying to keep the anger out of my voice as I follow him. “Operation Night Fall? The stockpiled weapons you were supposed to find were never recovered. Or how about Moldova? There was an off-book meeting with Vadim Nistor, and then three days later a rather large chunk of untraceable funds showed up in your account.”
Rourke waves his hand dismissively and keeps walking, but I know that the information Hawke gave us—information used to keep Rourke in line—couldn’t simply be dismissed.
“I could go on. How about your interference in an international manhunt for an intelligence officer linked to three dead NATO assets?”
He stops walking, clenches his hands by his side for a long moment, then turns around. “You’re bold. Both of you. Coming to me with threats.”
“No threats,” I say. “Just an exchange of information. That’s what you’re used to bargaining with, isn’t it?”
I note the surprising calmness in Rourke’s stare, but Hawke was right. Rourke might have secrets that make him both dangerous and valuable, but I have enough leverage to remind him he doesn’t hold all the cards tonight.
“What do you want?” he asks.
“Why were you meeting with Oumar Khelif?” I ask, getting straight to the point.
“Who’s asking?”
“I am.”
Rourke’s jaw tenses. “Even if it were true, I fail to see why that would be any of your business. Or information worth bargaining for.”
“He’s been kidnapped and is being held for five million dollars,” Graham says.
“And so the CIA sent the two of you to me to try and find him?”
I glance at Graham. “We were told you have connections that reach further than official channels.”
“Did Chapel tell you that?” Rourke frowns, then shrugs. “Oumar needed my help. He was worried his cover was blown and that you wouldn’t be able to keep him safe. He wanted a backup plan.”
“What was his plan?”
“I don’t ask people why they’re running. The less I know the better. What I do know is that they’re all desperate. And Oumar was definitely desperate.”
