Her Hidden Truth. Debra Webb

I go one-on-one and the winner can take it from there.”

      Okay, so he’d seen thirty his last birthday. That didn’t make him old by any stretch of the imagination. Vince shrugged in response, not even bothering to justify the ridiculous comment. Instead he took a moment to survey the spiffy, well-polished group. He’d bet a big, sweet slice of his mom’s cherry pie that every part of their wardrobe, down to the skivvies, sported designer labels purchased straight from the Post Exchange. These guys were green in every sense of the word.

      When Vince had looked his fill, he said, “Makes no difference to me, boys.”

      Fury claimed the beefy guy’s expression. “I’m gonna enjoy wiping that grin off your face,” he threatened.

      “Take your best shot,” Vince offered as he motioned with both hands for the guy to come and get him. Might as well get this over with so he could get back to the beer he’d left at the bar, along with the sexy blonde who’d deserted these flyboys in favor of Vince, which was the whole reason this little war had started. Just another reason Vince should have stayed home tonight. He’d been dwelling on the past again…a sure sign he wasn’t thinking straight.

      Before the muscled gorilla could make his first move a car skidded to a stop right behind Vince. Careful to keep most of his attention on the threesome ready to take off his head, Vince glanced over his shoulder. The sight of a long, black limousine confused him at first, then a window powered down.

      His boss. Director Thomas Casey.

      Great. Just great.

      “Get in the car,” Casey ordered. He did not look happy.

      “We have unfinished business with him,” the beefy guy bellowed, impatient, belligerent. “He’s not going no place until we’re through.”

      The three started to close in on Vince. He was just about to tell Casey he’d only be a minute when the sound of Lucas Camp’s voice stopped him.

      “Back off,” Lucas commanded. “I’d hate to have to use this.”

      Fully expecting to find Lucas wielding a weapon, Vince looked across the top of the automobile at his direct supervisor, the Deputy Director of Mission Recovery. To his surprise Lucas held a mere cellular phone in his right hand.

      “I’m sure General Fielding would be less than pleased to be awakened at this time of night for such a petty nuisance. And since he’s a personal friend of mine, I’m even more certain he’d be happy to see that you gentlemen were immediately transferred to Minot.”

      Silence ruled the night for about five seconds.

      “We’re all through here, sir,” the tallest man said quickly, obviously not willing to risk being shipped to the middle of nowhere in North Dakota. He pushed in front of his brawny friend and shook his head at the guy. “We have an early call to formation in the morning.”

      Vince blew out an exasperated breath as the three men headed back into the bar without so much as a fleeting glance in his direction. “Two minutes tops,” he griped to Lucas. “That’s all I needed. You couldn’t wait two minutes.”

      “Get in the car, Ferrelli,” Lucas growled.

      His annoyance rising as the adrenaline receded, Vince reluctantly obeyed the order. He knew better than to push it. “What’s up?” he asked as soon as he’d settled into the seat across from the top brass of Mission Recovery. The limo rolled into forward motion without preamble. Vince would have to come back for his Harley when the impromptu meeting was over. Anticipation kicked in. It had to be important for them to look him up this time of night.

      “We have a mission for you,” Casey explained. “You’ll need to leave first thing in the morning.”

      Since it was practically morning already, Vince decided that was fine with him. At least he wouldn’t have to pace the floors of his tiny apartment any longer. He had a mission. About time.

      “I’m ready. What’s the job?”

      “The CIA has an operative in trouble,” Lucas told him. “She’s been under deep cover for one month now. She’s infiltrated a small group of extremists who think they’re working for the World Security Agency.”

      Vince frowned, searching for any recognition. He found none. “The World Security Agency?”

      “Doesn’t exist,” Lucas explained.

      Casey took over from there. “The CIA has been tracking the so-called WSA for almost a year now. They recruit young people across the nation to support their cause by assuring them that they’re doing their patriotic duty. So far WSA has been successful twice.”

      “The bombing at LAX six months ago,” Lucas interjected, “and the attempt on the United Nations building just two months ago. Four or five are usually recruited and all of them die when the mission is completed, successful or not.”

      “How did the CIA manage to get someone inside?” Vince wanted to know. If all leads wound up dead ends, the CIA had done a pretty good trick by getting someone inside.

      “One guy survived the UN attack,” Lucas went on. “Philip Yu. The CIA has been tracking him since. We don’t know why he was allowed to live and the others were killed, but it was a lucky break.”

      “So the CIA sent someone in to get close to Yu?” Vince suggested.

      “Right. Yu had already recruited three others before the CIA’s operative. If the same modus operandi prevails, we believe they’ll attempt something soon. We don’t have much time.”

      “And you’re going to let it play out in hopes of nabbing the brains behind the operation,” Vince finished for him. It wasn’t a question. Sounded like his kind of mission.

      Lucas nodded. “We’ll never stop them if we don’t cut off the head of the organization.”

      “Cool.” Vince considered the one thing that didn’t add up. “Why isn’t the FBI running lead on this?” The whole scenario spelled Bureau jurisdiction to him.

      “They were,” Casey said. “Until intelligence pointed to a David Kovner as one of the top echelon of WSA.”

      “Israeli?”

      Casey nodded affirmatively to Vince’s question. “The CIA took over from there. As well as being dangerous, this guy is a huge embarrassment to our Israeli friends. They want him stopped, but they need our help to finish the job.”

      “So who am I and where am I going?”

      Lucas and Casey exchanged a look. The tension started in Vince’s gut, but swiftly worked its way up his back to his shoulders. He didn’t like that look. It could only mean trouble right up front.

      In this business, starting off on the wrong foot or one step behind could be a very bad thing.

      “Port Charlotte, Virginia,” Lucas said in answer to his second question. “It’s a college town off Highway 1 between Woodbridge and Fredericksburg. Yu and his team share a large rental house there. Three of the group are enrolled in the university. In their spare time they’ve been training in the art of surgical demolitions. We know how Yu is getting his orders. We just can’t catch Kovner in the act. We need to tie him to WSA.”

      Vince wasn’t the top demo expert in Mission Recovery but he was pretty damned good. There had to be some other reason he’d been chosen. His director’s next words told him the question was written on his face.

      “We selected you for this mission,” Casey told him in answer to his unspoken inquiry, “because we need your particular multilingual skills in the event it becomes an issue and we need someone who can handle the demo aspect of the assignment.”

      Vince was fluent in seven languages. But he knew that wasn’t the only reason he’d been chosen. All Specialists were multilingual. The tension radiating between the two men seated across from him was too intense for it to be so