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  “Help us find out what he’s planning and when he’s planning it.”

  That’s all? “Exactly how am I supposed to do that? With all your research on me, you must know I’m in the process of suing him over delinquent child support and alimony payments. We don’t exactly get together for tea and crumpets on a weekly basis.”

  Gavin smiled for the first time since she’d entered his office. “I have a plan.”

  SEVEN

  Gavin Demarco had at least one screw loose, possibly more. Cassandra stared at him in disbelief. “You want me to switch out Michael’s phone? How in the world do you expect me to do that without him noticing? And even if by some chance I did pull off a slight-of-hand miracle, what happens when he notices he’s got the wrong phone?”

  “He won’t notice.”

  “How could he not? What about all his apps? His contacts? His emails? His texts? They won’t be on the phone I swap for his.”

  “They will. At least we hope so if everything works as planned.”

  “Hope so? Explain ‘hope so’.” From where she sat this plan of Gavin’s had more holes than a block of Swiss cheese. Holes that matched the ones in his head from the loose screws!

  “Liam Hatch has developed a prototype smart phone that will synch up and clone the contents of a targeted phone. We’ll hear every call Schuster makes and see every email and text sent and received, all in real time.”

  “Isn’t there malware that already does that?” She remembered seeing a news article recently about spyware that could be inserted into a phone just by sending someone a text with a video link. The recipient didn’t even have to click on the link for the spyware to download into the phone.

  Gavin nodded. “This is different. Better. Plus, we’ll be able to track his every move. The phone also contains a kill switch that will render it inoperable should he try to use it as a remote detonator.”

  “But not render other phones in the area inoperable?”

  “Only those we target, according to Hatch.”

  Cassandra shuddered. “I hope he’s as big a genius as you and he claim. In the wrong hands technology like that could wreak havoc.”

  “We’re well aware of that, but we’ve got to get a jump on these lone wolf terrorists and militia groups. Their numbers are growing at an alarming rate, and it’s only a matter of time before one of them succeeds in pulling off a massive attack, something far worse than the Boston Marathon bombings. It’s imperative we use whatever technology we have at our disposal to stop them.”

  Cassandra felt the need to point out a lesson from history. “If I remember my honors U.S. History class senior year, that was the rationale used to drop the A-bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki.”

  Gavin steepled his fingers. The office grew silent for several beats before he answered her. “As devastating as those bombs were, don’t forget they ended the war. In the long run, the decision to use them saved countless lives.”

  “But they also started the arms race and a nuclear proliferation we’re still dealing with,” she argued.

  “Which would have happened anyway. It was only a matter of time. I guarantee, the bad guys are already hard at work on a version of the same technology Liam has developed.”

  “I suppose that’s probably true.” Frightening but true.

  “Anyway, this is not the time for a philosophical debate. We have a terrorist to stop.”

  Cassandra sighed. “You’re right, of course. It just scares the hell out of me. This phone Hatch has developed, it’s not totally perfected yet?”

  “The technology has worked in limited trials so far. Right now it’s our best plan of attack for determining what Schuster has planned.”

  Cassandra raised her index finger. “Here’s the first flaw in your plan. I don’t have a clue as to the brand of cell phone Michael owns.”

  “We’ve got that covered. Delta Team has already discovered the make and model as well as identified the type of phone case. Liam will have the phone ready by tomorrow. All we need to do is position a team member within two feet of him for ninety seconds, and the technology will do the rest.”

  “A team member? Not me?”

  “No, someone he doesn’t know. A stranger who can get close to him without arousing suspicion. Delta Team is on surveillance, monitoring his schedule.”

  That brought her to the second flaw in his plan. “Michael is a sales rep for a pharmaceutical company. His territory covers half of New Jersey and parts of New York, Connecticut, and Pennsylvania. He’s all over the map every day, never in the same place at the same time on any given day. How are you going to pull this off? It’s not like he’s a cashier at a supermarket you can stand in front of while he’s ringing up your order or a bus driver you can sit behind while riding into Manhattan.”

  “He takes customers out to lunch, doesn’t he?”

  “All the time.”

  “A member of Delta Team will be sitting at the table next to him wherever he eats lunch tomorrow.”

  “Assuming the tables are no more than two feet apart, then what?”

  “Once we have his phone cloned, you’re going to make the switch.”

  As serious as the discussion was, Cassandra couldn’t help but laugh. “Is that all?” She threw up her arms. “Piece of cake—not! Let me remind you the man and I have barely spoken in five years.”

  “We’re going to make certain you find a way.”

  She had little faith in this plan, and the more she thought about it, the bigger that block of Swiss cheese grew. “What if he uses a different phone for his terrorism connections? Don’t criminals often use burner phones and swap them out regularly?”

  She lived in New Jersey and read the newspaper when she had time. She knew such things didn’t only occur on TV dramas and in the movies. Gang members and drug dealers employed such tactics, not to mention all the members of organized crime who call the Garden State home.

  “We have no indication of that. He’s been observed using only one phone, and no secondary cell signal has pinged from his location as we’ve tracked his movements.”

  “Still, he could have a secondary phone for triggering the bomb. If I were him, I’d take a page from all those drug kingpins and gangbangers and keep a stash of pre-paid phones at my disposal.”

  The corners of Gavin’s mouth quirked upward, causing a crack in his grim demeanor. “That’s why I’m glad you’re working for the good guys. If he does plan to use a burner phone as a detonator, we’ve got that covered. The jammer on the cloned phone will also jam any other phones in the general vicinity.”

  “But a minute ago you said—”

  “Only if we want it to.”

  “It’s that smart?”

  “It’s that smart.”

  Gavin had a rebuttal for each of her arguments. Still, so much could go wrong. One thing was clear to her, though. Judging from what Gavin’s teams had unearthed, Michael was either convinced that he’d devised a foolproof plan, or he was incredibly stupid. Knowing The Ex, her money was on the latter. And that could be even more deadly than whatever he had planned.

  “Bottom line,” said Gavin, “Michael Schuster is dangerous and needs to be stopped.”

  She nodded. “Agreed. Now tell me how you plan to transform me into Cassandradini the Magnificent.”

  ~*~

  Cassandra’s head spun as she headed downstairs to meet Hawkeye for target practice. One day she’s writing community theater reviews; the next, she’s so far out of her league, she’s playing an entirely different sport in another stadium—on a distant planet—in another galaxy. How the hell had her life plummeted down such a bizarre rabbit hole?

  Michael. That’s how. Because of him, she’d been sucked into this alien world of counterterrorism. Now she was charged with stopping The Ex from blowing up some unidentified target.

  What on earth had Michael gotten himself mixed up in? Their years together had given no inkling that someday the average two-timing Joe would m
orph into a potential mass murderer. But since then? Other than his recent marriage and the impending arrival of twins—talk about irony—she knew little of the life he’d led the past five years.

  Besides her lawyer, her children were her only source of news regarding Michael. They told her very little, not because they withheld information from her but because they just didn’t know much.

  Michael had very little contact with his children—his choice, not hers. But had it not been for Hayley and Cooper, Cassandra wouldn’t have had anything to do with the lying cheat once the ink on the divorce decree had dried.

  She stepped out of the elevator and found Hawkeye standing in front of the door to the firing range. He tapped the face of the high-tech watch on his wrist. “You’re late.”

  “Blame Gavin. He called me into his office.”

  Hawkeye showed a concern she didn’t expect. “Everything okay?”

  Cassandra knew not to discuss operations with non-team members unless instructed to do so. “Hunky-dory,” she said, forcing a smile.

  Hawkeye keyed in the code to the firing range, then opened the door, holding it for her to proceed ahead of him. “Don’t look like hunky-dory from where I’m standing.” He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. Then he nodded to the line of targets at the opposite end of the long tunnel. “Tell you what, just visualize your ex’s face on those targets while you’re shooting, and you’ll have one hell of a practice session.”

  Cassandra turned to face him. Hands on hips, she scowled. “You know?”

  “Hell, yeah.”

  He handed her what looked like the same Glock she’d used yesterday, not that she’d know one Glock from another or a Glock from a Barretta or a Walther PPK, the only other handgun names she knew from having watched a few James Bond movies back in the day.

  “Why do you think I’m tasked with whipping you into shape so quickly?”

  Cassandra placed the gun on the counter. “You mean you don’t kill all your new recruits as quickly as you’re killing me?”

  Hawkeye laughed. “Turn around and shoot the head off that mother-f’er.”

  And she did. Cassandra was shocked at how quickly and accurately she had adapted to firing the gun after only two weeks of practice. She just hoped she’d never have to use the Glock anywhere other than the MAC basement firing range. Aiming at a paper target was one thing. Firing at another human being was something else.

  Chill foreboding swept up her spine. She had accepted a job that supposedly entailed sitting at a computer all day. That job had swiftly morphed into something altogether different from the initial job description—with the potential of being far more deadly.

  Given what she now knew, could she kill the father of her children if she had to?

  Cassandra inserted another clip into the gun, positioned herself, and pulled the trigger. She hoped to hell she’d never have to face that possibility.

  ~*~

  Gavin accessed the MAC closed-circuit monitoring system on his computer and intently studied Cassandra while she took target practice with Hawkeye. Her body language now exuded a determination decidedly missing from his initial session with her. After their talk yesterday she hit the kill zone with nearly every shot. So far today she hadn’t missed once. Impressive.

  He ignored the unwelcome hormonal elephant that had unexpectedly entered the firing range on the one and only day he’d worked with her. He chalked up her new attitude and improved performance to his revelations about her ex. Cassandra had quickly channeled her fear and anger into a focused resolve to stop a terrorist.

  He’d made the right decision in turning her over to Hawkeye for her physical training. Given the stakes, he would have preferred training her himself, but the last thing he needed was his long-suppressed libido springing back to life and clouding his judgment in the middle of a crucial operation. He vowed to keep Cassandra Davenport at arm’s length just in case that unexpected surge of testosterone was more a precursor of what could be rather than an anomaly.

  Gavin picked up his phone and called Carla Jordan to report in on his progress.

  “Glad to hear she’s working out,” said Carla.

  Gavin knew Carla wasn’t totally onboard with MAC. Each of their successes over the last six months had won her over a little bit more, but she still harbored strong reservations regarding the use of civilians and wanted them kept out of the field as much as possible.

  When one of his agents had gone rogue a few weeks ago during a surveillance op and attacked a suspected terrorist, the woman had not only put the continued existence of MAC in jeopardy, she’d created a potential nightmare for Tony Granville. If the president axed Tony over a botched MAC operation, MAC died a sudden death.

  Luckily, because of Carla’s concerns over recruiting civilians as operatives, she’d anticipated the possibility of just such a SNAFU. She quickly launched a credible cover story that not only kept the news media at bay but prevented prosecution of the former team member. As she had done throughout much of her career, Carla Jordan once again pulled an unorthodox rabbit out of her hat. Then again, if MAC went south, Carla had as much—if not more—to lose than the rest of them. However, Gavin knew he couldn’t afford any more failures within his ranks.

  “We were able to clone the phone without a hitch,” he continued. “Schuster never suspected a thing.”

  “You’re all set to make the switch tomorrow?”

  “Hopefully. We still need Davenport to place a call to her ex-husband to set up a meet.”

  “Keep me posted.” Carla hung up before Gavin had a chance to say anything further.

  He turned back to his computer screen to find that Cassandra had finished her target practice for the day. Time to set the next part of his plan in motion.

  EIGHT

  When Cassandra returned to her team, she found Gavin waiting with Noreen and Hanna. It was time for her to call Michael. “What if he refuses to meet with me?” she asked.

  “That carrot you’ll be dangling will do the trick,” said Gavin. “Money talks.”

  Cassandra thought about that. “Michael always complained that we never had enough money to support the lifestyle he believed he deserved. I called it caviar dreams on a mac and cheese budget.” She paused for a moment, then snapped her fingers. “Of course!”

  “What?” asked Noreen.

  “All of this is so not Michael. He’s not building a bomb because of some sudden conversion to a radical form of Islam; he’s doing it for the money. Someone is paying him.”

  “If he’s not committed to the cause, he’s in for a rude awakening,” said Hanna. “An infidel is an infidel, whether he’s helpful or not. These groups have no tolerance for anyone who isn’t a true believer of their cause.”

  “Whatever the reason,” said Gavin, “we have to figure out what he’s planning and stop him.”

  Cassandra fished her personal cell phone, not her MAC-issued phone, out of her purse and took a deep breath. She then exhaled forcefully. “Okay, let’s get this over with.”

  “Do you want to rehearse once more?” asked Hanna. The three of them had devised a script for Cassandra to follow.

  “No, I’ve got my lines down.” All those years of high school drama club had left her with the ability to memorize dialogue after only a few reads of most scripts.

  “We’ve got your back,” said Noreen. “Put the phone on speaker. We’ll feed you lines if necessary. Just keep your eyes on my computer screen for any prompts.”

  Cassandra nodded, then scrolled through her contacts until she came to Michael’s number. She paused for a split second to jack up her courage before activating the call.

  “What do you want?” he asked with a snarl in his voice and not so much as a begrudging greeting.

  Cassandra scowled at the phone. “Hello to you, too, Michael.”

  “I’m busy, Cassandra. Whatever crap you want to hurl at me today, call my lawyer.”

  “Actually, I’m call
ing to do you a favor,” she said. “Or at least offer you one if you’re interested.”

  This got his attention, but his voice sounded leery. “What sort of favor?”

  She launched into her pitch. “I’m tired of fighting with you, Michael. All we’re doing is making our lawyers richer. You have a new life with twins on the way. I want to get on with my life. I have a proposition that should interest you.”

  “What sort of proposition?”

  “Meet me for lunch tomorrow. Give me an hour of your time, and you’ll save thousands of dollars in legal fees.”

  “Why can’t you just tell me over the phone?”

  “I don’t have time, and I think we should discuss this face-to-face.”

  He paused long enough that Cassandra thought he’d hung up on her. Finally, he said, “Fine. Chez Jacques at one o’clock. You’re paying.” Then he did hang up.

  Cassandra sighed. She turned to Gavin. “Sorry. I screwed up. I should have named the restaurant before he had a chance to choose one.” Gavin had made arrangements to fill a specific restaurant entirely with MAC personnel.

  “Don’t worry about it,” he said.

  “A guy like that has to throw his weight around to compensate for his own shortcomings,” said Noreen. “That’s why he’s building a bomb. It makes him feel important and in control of the world.”

  “Besides,” said Hanna, “even if you had suggested the restaurant we chose, he probably would’ve balked.”

  “She’s right,” said Gavin. “Not having total control of the restaurant is a minor glitch, but it’s not a deal breaker. We can tweak our plan to fit Chez Jacques.”

  Cassandra snorted. “So like him to pick the most expensive restaurant in the state and stick me with the check.”

  “We can afford it,” said Gavin. He placed a hand on her shoulder, then quickly removed it. “You did great. We proceed as planned.”

  He turned and strode back to his office. Cassandra was left to deal with the aftermath of the electric sizzle produced by his brief touch. Damn!

  ~*~

  Cassandra arrived at the restaurant half an hour before the designated time in order to choose a table in the far corner, placing herself with her back to the wall and facing the entrance. Michael would have only her and the cabbage rose wallpaper to stare at, while she had a bird’s eye view of the other diners, including the various MAC teams positioned at tables throughout the restaurant.