among his oppressed countrymen, solidifying himself as one of Alexandreâs most formidable enemies.
Alexandre clenched his jaw. As evidence that Baptiste had been secretly devising his downfall for several months, heâd kept for himself indisputable proof of the assassination plot. After he was killed, a search of his residence had revealed a locked safe filled with taped phone conversations and audio recordings from clandestine strategy meetings that had taken place right inside the presidential palace. It was not known whether he had furnished copies of these items to Magliore before he died. In all likelihood, he had not. If the U.S. government were already in possession of irrefutable evidence of Alexandreâs guilt, he would already be in prison. No, they did not have the proof, he assured himself once again. They needed Magliore to appear before the United Nations Security Council and testify against Alexandre. Magliore was their secret weapon, their surprise witness. Without his official testimony, no charges could be brought against Alexandre.
He not only intended to keep Magliore from making it to that hearing, he intended to silence him permanently. As he should have done two years ago.
If only he could find capable assassins worthy of the task.
Alexandre ground his teeth. The bitter acid of bile churned in his stomach, rising in his mouth. His hands fisted so tightly that his nails dug into the calloused flesh of his palms. He didnât so much as flinch.
There were two things on this earth Alexandre Biassou could not abide. One was cowardice.
The other was failure.
He may not have succeeded in his first attempt to eliminate the defector who posed the biggest threat to his future.
But Alexandre would not fail again. As far as he was concerned, failure was not an option.
Chapter 5
Sunday, September 7, 2008
0400 hours
Thurmont, Maryland
Day 3
L ia awakened at 4:00 a.m. to work out with the free weights and pull-up bar sheâd set up in her room before going to bed the night before. As she went through her sets and reps, pushing her aching muscles to the limit, she watched as dawn broke over the Catoctin Mountains, spreading vivid flame in hues of orange and pink across the sky. It promised to be another beautiful day, one that almost made her wish she were at the scenic mountain retreat on vacation, instead of on assignment.
When she finished her workout, she showered and dressed in a crisp white button-down shirt and a pair of tan slacks. Sheâd washed her hair and blown it dry before sheâd gone to bed. She now twisted it into a loose knot atop her head, then surveyed her reflection in the full-length mirror in the bathroom. She looked neat, sensible and professionalâexactly what sheâd been going for. God knows she didnât want to give Armand Magliore any reason to find her attractive. Although, she noted grimly, her travel-worn appearance hadnât seemed to make a difference at dinner last night. Every time sheâd glanced across the table, sheâd found Magliore watching her with that bold, possessive gaze. The heat he sent through his penetrating eyes surrounded her, leaving her with a liquid rush in unspeakable parts of her body.
Sheâd been secretly relieved when, after the meal, Magliore had not joined her and the others for poker, going to bed early instead. Sheâd waited until she could be sure he was asleep before sheâd sent her colleagues on their way. And then sheâd lain awake for hours, trying her damnedest not to think about the irresistibly sexy man in the room beside hers, trying not to imagine whether he slept in the nude. Of course, the more she tried not to imagine this, the more her mind wandered. She fantasized about sneaking into his room and sliding beneath his bedcovers to press her naked body against his hot, muscled flesh. He groaned huskily with pleasure and reached for her, cupping her buttocks and holding her
Alexandre clenched his jaw. As evidence that Baptiste had been secretly devising his downfall for several months, heâd kept for himself indisputable proof of the assassination plot. After he was killed, a search of his residence had revealed a locked safe filled with taped phone conversations and audio recordings from clandestine strategy meetings that had taken place right inside the presidential palace. It was not known whether he had furnished copies of these items to Magliore before he died. In all likelihood, he had not. If the U.S. government were already in possession of irrefutable evidence of Alexandreâs guilt, he would already be in prison. No, they did not have the proof, he assured himself once again. They needed Magliore to appear before the United Nations Security Council and testify against Alexandre. Magliore was their secret weapon, their surprise witness. Without his official testimony, no charges could be brought against Alexandre.
He not only intended to keep Magliore from making it to that hearing, he intended to silence him permanently. As he should have done two years ago.
If only he could find capable assassins worthy of the task.
Alexandre ground his teeth. The bitter acid of bile churned in his stomach, rising in his mouth. His hands fisted so tightly that his nails dug into the calloused flesh of his palms. He didnât so much as flinch.
There were two things on this earth Alexandre Biassou could not abide. One was cowardice.
The other was failure.
He may not have succeeded in his first attempt to eliminate the defector who posed the biggest threat to his future.
But Alexandre would not fail again. As far as he was concerned, failure was not an option.
Chapter 5
Sunday, September 7, 2008
0400 hours
Thurmont, Maryland
Day 3
L ia awakened at 4:00 a.m. to work out with the free weights and pull-up bar sheâd set up in her room before going to bed the night before. As she went through her sets and reps, pushing her aching muscles to the limit, she watched as dawn broke over the Catoctin Mountains, spreading vivid flame in hues of orange and pink across the sky. It promised to be another beautiful day, one that almost made her wish she were at the scenic mountain retreat on vacation, instead of on assignment.
When she finished her workout, she showered and dressed in a crisp white button-down shirt and a pair of tan slacks. Sheâd washed her hair and blown it dry before sheâd gone to bed. She now twisted it into a loose knot atop her head, then surveyed her reflection in the full-length mirror in the bathroom. She looked neat, sensible and professionalâexactly what sheâd been going for. God knows she didnât want to give Armand Magliore any reason to find her attractive. Although, she noted grimly, her travel-worn appearance hadnât seemed to make a difference at dinner last night. Every time sheâd glanced across the table, sheâd found Magliore watching her with that bold, possessive gaze. The heat he sent through his penetrating eyes surrounded her, leaving her with a liquid rush in unspeakable parts of her body.
Sheâd been secretly relieved when, after the meal, Magliore had not joined her and the others for poker, going to bed early instead. Sheâd waited until she could be sure he was asleep before sheâd sent her colleagues on their way. And then sheâd lain awake for hours, trying her damnedest not to think about the irresistibly sexy man in the room beside hers, trying not to imagine whether he slept in the nude. Of course, the more she tried not to imagine this, the more her mind wandered. She fantasized about sneaking into his room and sliding beneath his bedcovers to press her naked body against his hot, muscled flesh. He groaned huskily with pleasure and reached for her, cupping her buttocks and holding her
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