Page 84 of Turn the Tide
Neither man said anything for a beat, staring at him, considering the request.
“If it was Missy,” Mike said, “you’d be there for me. Without question. I’m with you.”
Ethan sighed. “Screw it.” He dug into a black duffel bag and handed Logan a Glock 17. “No battle brother of mine should have to beg for my help. I won’t leave you hanging.”
“How do we find her?” Mike asked.
Logan searched their eyes, confirming their sincerity in the earnestness that shone back. They were dedicated professionals, loyal to Sanborn and Knox, and feared the fallout if this went sideways. Only a fool wouldn’t. But with a flip of the coin, the scales of luck tipped in the wrong direction, and they could’ve just as easily been Logan. Damaged from a mission and cast aside. Caught in a terrible position with a horrible choice.
In the end, they were men who would choose love over duty too.
“Ash has a burner phone,” Logan said. “If we can get them to answer it and stay on long enough—”
“I can trace it,” Mike said.
Ethan folded his arms. “What if they’re not on long enough for a trace? Or don’t answer?”
Always a glass-half-empty type of guy.
“Then we cut a deal. Ash for the drive. Worst case, I leave a message. They’ll check her phone for information to use against her.” Giving up the drive for Ash was a big gamble, and there’d be repercussions, but she was worth the risk.
“We need the drive.” Mike sat back in his chair, wiping his brow with his palm. “There are more than fifty churches in Berlin. How do we find the right one?”
Logan drifted to the window and stared out into the night. Ash didn’t do things arbitrarily. She wouldn’t have picked a random church. It would’ve been one she went to as a child or that held significance.
Yes, it is an impossible cause, Ash had said.
Logan touched his pendant, rubbing the cool metal between his fingers. “Mike, how many churches of St. Jude are there in Berlin?”
Hunched over the laptop, Mike typed furiously. He looked up with wide eyes and a grin. “One.”
Hope eased the ache in Logan’s chest.Hang in there, Ash. “I need one of you to take this damn tracker out of me.”
***
Berlin, Germany
Sunday, March 6, 4:44 a.m. CET
The layout of the CIA station, a SCIF—sensitive compartmented information facility—embedded within the U.S. Embassy, hadn’t changed since the last time Knox had been here. Same drab carpet and stuffy cubicles. At this hour on the weekend, the office was waking up and only a skeleton crew was in.
He stopped someone passing. “I need to speak to the COS. Adam Lipinski.”
“Sorry,” the young guy said. “He’s at a conference in Norway. Won’t be back for two days. But you can talk to the DCOS.”
A fifty-fifty chance how this could play out with a deputy he didn’t know.
“There she is.” The guy pointed to the hall leading to the main admin offices. “Cynthia Fairchild.”
A dormant hatred jackknifed awake, burning in his gut before he even saw her. Clenching his jaw, he spun on his heel. Their gazes collided.
Her fiery-red hair was swept up in a chignon, and in the wee hours of the morning, she looked impeccable in her gunmetal-gray sheath dress. Eyes the color of a rainy sky cut away from him, and she strode into an office with her head held in a regal manner.
He took his time walking down the hall, strategizing, reining in his fury and swallowing his disappointment in her. “Cynthia,” he said in the doorway, measuring his tone.
“Knox.” She stood behind her desk like a warrior ready for battle.
He closed the door and strolled to face her.
