Mission Of Desire Part 4

"It sounds taxing, but it basically entails little more than sitting in a room filled with computers waiting for one of them to tell me they've detected something interesting."

"Like what?" Nicole popped the top on the soda.

"Let's say one of our country's enemies wanted to send information to a fellow terrorist across the Internet. Our highly sophisticated software programs monitor all the data traffic on computer networks in select countries here in Africa and the Mideast. The programs are called package sniffers. If one of these programs intercepts a message it considers suspicious based upon parameters we set, such as certain words or phrases, visits to specific websites or e-mail addresses, it spews the information out into yet another program. This other program filters everything collected and then yet another program a.n.a.lyzes the findings. Everything is in real time, so someone has to be on duty should a program alert us to a potential attack or some other imminent threat against our country or one of our allies. Ninety-nine percent of the time, false alarms."

Nicole nodded. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe Kira was really one of the good guys. Only one way to find out.

"So how'd you end up in Kenya working for the government?"

Kira was quiet for so long, Nicole thought she was going to avoid answering. Then finally, "Back in 1998, a group of terrorists bombed three U.S. emba.s.sies in East Africa. My parents were among the two hundred twenty-four victims they murdered."

Nicole gasped.

"My father was a consular officer with the Foreign Service in Nairobi. A desk job, helping U.S. citizens with lost pa.s.sports and medical emergencies. My parents had moved to Kenya a year before to start a new life. My father had forgotten his lunch at home and my mother was dropping it off when the car bomb went off. The explosives were hidden in the beds of two trucks. As you probably already know, al-Qaeda claimed responsibility."

"Where were you when it happened?" Nicole whispered.

"I was thirteen at the time and in school. The city was chaos. Sirens and alarms. People running everywhere. Phone lines not working, electricity out. The school sent all the students home, fearful of additional bombings. When my parents didn't return that evening and no one came calling to whisk us to the hospital to visit them, my brother and I reasoned they were amongst those killed, yet to be or unable to be identified."

Nicole longed to reach out in comfort but she curbed the impulse, raising a fist to her mouth instead. This was no lie. She could almost see the vulnerable, grieving teenager still lurking in the shadows of the adult woman.

"My aunt and uncle raised us." Kira pushed a wave of hair from her eyes, revealing a deep sadness in their blue depths. "All other growing pains aside, they provided me and my brother with first-rate educations and a very loving home. However, whereas my brother was able to put our parents' deaths behind him and move on, I couldn't. The need for vengeance in me never waned. I knew almost immediately that I would devote my entire career and the rest of my life to seeing each individual responsible for those bombings either in jail or dead."

A chill ran down Nicole's spine. She wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of Kira Anthony's wrath.

"After graduating from college, I joined the FBI's counterterrorism division. I made al-Qaeda my sole focus, studying everything about them-their infrastructure, bomb-making techniques, and philosophies. From there, I was recruited to work for a division within the Defense Intelligence Agency."

Nicole's mind raced as it worked to a.s.semble the chronology of Kira's career. "So did you help track down Osama bin Laden?"

"Shevchenko and I were on one of the dozens of task forces a.n.a.lyzing clues that ultimately led the CIA to his fortified compound in Abbottabad. That Ukrainian is a computer whiz," she added admiringly, and the haunted look instantly evaporated from her face. "Shevchenko created many of those package sniffer programs I was telling you about. Even though these fanatical idiots denigrate anything Western, they certainly have no issue using the technology we created to communicate with one another. Although bin Laden was wise and refused to use the phone or Internet, his people didn't. And it was ultimately his downfall. When his courier made a phone call in 2010, it led us right to bin Laden's doorstep." She sighed heavily. "But it was never bin Laden I was after. Ayman al-Zawahiri was the mastermind who plotted to bomb the emba.s.sies, as well as the World Trade Center. Now that bin Laden is dead, he's been appointed al-Qaeda's official leader."

She stopped talking, like she was afraid she'd said too much There was a reason the Ice Princess shared such a poignant event in her life-Nicole just didn't know why yet.

"So what about you? What are your plans after graduation?"

Nicole hesitated. She didn't want to talk about herself. Now that she'd been given a little peek behind the curtain, she was greedy for more. Where did Kira actually live when she wasn't hunting terrorists? What did she do in her free time? Or was every spare minute dedicated to seeking her revenge against al-Qaeda?

Doubtful.

There was another side to Kira Anthony. Nicole had seen it very briefly when she'd accidentally let her mask down. Did she share that smile with someone special? It wasn't Stella, of that Nicole was almost certain after watching them together tonight. More than likely, Kira was straight. This notion filled her with a sharp disappointment.

"Well?"

Nicole realized Kira was staring at her expectantly, waiting for an answer.

"Nothing nearly as exciting as what you do. I'm gonna teach," she tried to sound enthusiastic, "perhaps at my old high school. My mother is a history teacher there."

Kira nodded. "How'd you know you wanted to become a teacher?"

It was a very simple question, but one Nicole couldn't immediately answer. Once upon a time, not so long ago, she was a rambunctious kid with a head full of wild dreams, excited about the future. She'd always longed to do something adventurous, like joining the military or even volunteering for the Peace Corps, but feared what the emotional impact of such an undertaking would have on her widowed mother.

After her father's death, Nicole's mother had grown more and more apprehensive about the safety of her two daughters, so much so that Nicole found it difficult to take a trip across town, never mind one out of the country. Learning foreign languages on a laptop in her bedroom had been her way of appeasing both her mother's paranoia and her own wild wanderl.u.s.t. By the tenth grade, she'd become bored with studying French and turned her attention to Arabic because she'd been told it was one of the hardest languages to learn. Despite its difficulty, she stayed with it all through college. Speaking it didn't come easy for her, but she'd had no trouble mastering reading and writing the complex script. Teaching had seemed a wise career choice for someone with her language skills. Lord knew, her mother thought so.

Yet it was time for Nicole to stop deluding herself into thinking life was just going to magically work itself out. Somewhere out on the horizon, she'd always believed she was going to get there, that place where she was free to live the life she chose. She didn't know how or when; it was just always there, beyond her reach, but waiting for her. But she had to face it. Soon she'd have to start looking for work, and the thought of devoting eight to ten hours a day, five days a week in an enclosed cla.s.sroom adhering to the outline of some state-issued lesson plan filled her with a sudden claustrophobia, more than the reality of being trapped down here, ten feet under the ground in a cement tomb.

"I thought it wouldn't be too hard to find a job," she finally said, unaware of the melancholy that flitted across her features. "But now with all the budget cutbacks, it looks like I could be waiting tables a little bit longer than I'd planned."

Kira quirked a brow. "I thought you were going to tell me you found teaching rewarding or that you liked kids."

"I do," Nicole said defensively, feeling like a fraud. For some insane reason, she longed to earn the admiration of the woman looking at her with something vaguely akin to disappointment.

"Probably time for you to get some rest and for me to go to work." Kira pushed herself to a standing position. "It's easy to get lost, so I'll walk you to your room." Glancing down at Nicole's socks, she asked, "Do your feet still hurt?"

"How'd you know?"

"I was the one who treated your wounds while you were sick. Your feet were a mess."

Kira had seen her naked. How could she forget that? An embarra.s.sing flush ripped through her entire body, surely turning her cheeks a bright red. She was p.r.o.ne to blus.h.i.+ng and she hated it.

"G.o.d, Nicole, you seem so," Kira's blue eyes were intense as she moved closer, slowly growing puzzled as they scrutinized her, "innocent."

Innocent? Nicole said nothing, unsure how to respond to such an odd appraisal. Danielle had described her once as wholesome, and she wasn't sure if it had been a compliment or a judgment.

Kira stared at her for a bit longer, then abruptly turned on the heels of her running shoes. Nicole sensed the sudden tension between them. Kira had become irritated with her, but why, she hadn't a clue. Her moods seem to change with no warning. One moment she was concerned, and the next, she was back to being cold and distant.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow she would find out how she was involved in this lunacy and soon she would be free. But what was she really hoping to escape from? This underground crypt buried where no one could ever find her even if they tried, or the disconcerting feelings the mercurial, mood-swinging enigma walking so tensely next to her had awakened within her?

Their hands accidentally collided and they both shrank away in response, almost as if the intimacy of an inadvertent touch was too personal for either one of them.

"I want to show you something," Kira said a minute later as they made their way through the cement tunnels. She slowed as they pa.s.sed an open room filled with a dozen or so prehistoric computers. All of them were dark and silent except for one. "That machine controls the generators," she explained. "The entire system runs on small solar-powered panels stationed throughout the forest. It's surprisingly quite efficient. There's always ample hot water and we've never been without juice for any of our electronic devices. Amazing to think they created this technology over thirty years ago and yet we refuse to move toward embracing the sun as a true source for energy."

Nicole glanced at Kira from the corner of her eyes as they continued on. Not only was she incredibly intelligent, but her beauty was like an addictive drug; once viewed, you were left with an incredible yearning for more. Yet there was something more...something raw, intangible, and primitively s.e.xual that radiated from her inner being. Nicole knew she wasn't safe, and it had nothing to do with anyone on motorcycles chasing her. She was in danger of succ.u.mbing to a very severe case of something beyond mere infatuation.

"Since I can't stay and teach, I a.s.sume I'll be able to go home soon?"

They were standing at the steel doorway to her room, the one that Nicole had erroneously locked when she'd first arrived. It wasn't completely closed, and Kira pushed it open with the tip of her sneaker.

"If that's truly what you want," Kira replied, then disappeared into the black hole from which they'd just emerged.

Chapter Seven.

The intoxicating aroma of brewing coffee woke Nicole. Unsure of the time, she reached for her watch. It was a little past nine in the morning, Kenya time. After taking a quick shower and dressing in jeans and a long-sleeved gray T-s.h.i.+rt, she managed to make her way to the kitchen without getting lost. Her hiking boots stayed behind, at the side of her cot.

"Good morning, kiddo." Stella was seated at the table alone nursing a mug.

Nicole did a double take.

She was wearing mauve-colored lipstick and false eyelashes and her swarthy complexion had been dusted with rouge and facial powder. Her coa.r.s.e black hair had been straightened and there were small pearls in her earlobes.

"You look especially pretty today, Stella." Nicole was rewarded with a wide smile.

"You want coffee? The beans for this coffee were harvested right here in Kenya," the dolled-up Ukrainian proudly informed her as she filled a plate with eggs and toast and set it down before Nicole.

No one else was in sight, but Nicole could almost sense that Kira was lurking nearby. Although she hated to admit it to herself, the thought filled her with antic.i.p.ation.

"I love the smell, but I'm not a fan of the taste. So what's the plan today?"

"I think you and Kira have that talk."

As if on cue, the subject of their conversation made her entrance, and a trickle of awareness coursed down Nicole's spine. She was dressed in a white b.u.t.ton-down s.h.i.+rt with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows and its length tucked into crisp khaki slacks secured with a brown leather belt. Her heeled boots looked more stylish than utilitarian, and her silky blond hair fell in a soft cascade around her shoulders. She poured herself a cup of coffee, leaned back against the kitchen's Formica countertop, and drank it in stoic stillness, avoiding Nicole completely.

Not much of a morning person, is she? Then Nicole remembered she'd been on duty at the computers most of the night.

"Finish your breakfast, kid-you need the protein." Stella winked. One of her false eyelashes separated from the glue and dangled precariously from her left eyelid. "Bogie's turn to rest and my time to take watch. See you later, gator."

"Never fails." Kira refilled her coffee cup and walked over to the table where Nicole was seated. "Four days in this hole and Shevchenko starts to lose it. I always know I need to send her up for air when the eyelashes appear. On the other hand, you look much healthier today."

Nicole knew that was a lie. Her fatigue always showed, and last night had been a rough one. She'd tossed and turned for hours, fantasizing about Kira.

"Are you done with your breakfast?"

Nicole nodded, wiping crumbs of dry crust from her mouth with a paper napkin she retrieved from the center of the table.

"Good. Come with me," Kira said softly, placing her mug of coffee next to Nicole's plate of half-eaten eggs. "Time we got down to business."

Nicole followed Kira's slim figure down yet another corridor, trying hard to focus on anything besides the outline of the perfectly round derriere in tan slacks. They entered a dimly lit office s.p.a.ce overwhelmed by a large gunmetal gray desk and two orange-colored upholstered chairs. Nicole looked for a framed picture of a loved one or some other personal artifact, but there weren't any in sight.

"It was chic in the late seventies," Kira said dryly before taking a seat behind the desk and indicating Nicole should sit in one of the orange chairs.

She did, but the chair had been designed before ergonomic was even a word. Sitting required her to keep her back ramrod straight, otherwise the hard plastic molding stabbed at her shoulder blades.

"Relax, Nicole. You act as if you've been summoned to the princ.i.p.al's office." Kira smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. She was again distant and guarded. "So tell me," she reclined back in her more modern chair and asked in a controlled voice, "how is it that someone who's never even crossed a state line in her entire twenty-two years suddenly flies off to Kenya for six weeks?"

Bewildered, Nicole couldn't think of an answer.

Kira leaned forward. "Who'd you come here to meet?"

"Meet?" Nicole realized she sounded like a slow-brained idiot, but she had no idea what the h.e.l.l was Kira talking about.

"Yes, Nicole Kennedy." Kira tapped a pen impatiently against the surface of the desk. Her face darkened. "Why are you really here in Africa? You don't really expect me to believe that bulls.h.i.+t story about coming here to teach orphans, do you?"

Nicole swallowed hard. She couldn't admit that the only way to win her mother's endors.e.m.e.nt for traveling to another country was if it were under the guise of a teaching interns.h.i.+p. It would sound juvenile.

"I came here to teach. I thought it would be fun," she lied. "And maybe I'd get some research done for my thesis."

"With no laptop?"

"I b-brought notebooks," Nicole stammered. "I wasn't sure if I'd have access to electricity. I was going to use the old-fas.h.i.+oned method of pen and paper." She felt a surge of adrenaline surge through her. "Is that now illegal?" She caught her breath and squared her shoulders. She wasn't guilty of anything, so why was she acting as if she were?

"Strange for an education major to study Arabic." Kira stood and came around the desk. "And Nairobi's a hotbed for all sorts of criminal activity."

Alarm bells were ringing in Nicole's head. She didn't recall telling Kira what languages she'd studied.

"What are you implying? That I came all the way to Africa to cook up some outrageous plot against my own country?" She released a mocking snort. "You and these guys on the motorcycles definitely have me confused with someone else. In case you haven't been paying attention to what's happened to the economy, the teaching field isn't exactly exploding with job opportunities these days, so I thought if I continued studying Arabic it would make me more marketable." Her voice had slowly risen in volume until it was almost a shout. "Do those sound like the plans of someone whose picture you'd find on a most wanted poster in the post office?"

"It seems like you have your future all sketched out. It sounds very"-Kira paused, her tone sarcastic-"exciting."

Nicole squeezed her fists, the tips of her nails biting into the tender flesh of her palms. "You just accused me of flying to Nairobi for some furtive meeting with G.o.d knows who, and now you're mocking me for being dull?"

"Let's just stop the pretense, shall we?" Kira crossed her arms and leaned back against the desk. "I know all about you and Danielle."

Nicole felt the color drain from her face. The seat under her thighs felt hot and there was a thundering in her ears. The scrambled eggs she'd eaten were doing a dance inside her stomach. How could Kira know? Was the small bedroom she slept in equipped with some sort of mind-reading mechanism?

"How do you know about that? n.o.body knows about that," she mumbled loud enough for Kira to hear. She stared at the gray cement floor waiting for her world to stop spinning. Fragments of comments made over the past few days swirled about her head, but it was difficult to put them together into some semblance of sense.

Just how had Kira known about her and Danielle? She squeezed her head between her hands, as if the pressure would stir some neural activity. She lifted her head. "How long?"

"How long what?"

"How long have you people been stalking me?"

"Stalking? Don't be dramatic, Nicole."

"How long have you been eavesdropping on me?"

Kira's blue eyes sparkled. "I'm not admitting to anything-but electronic monitoring does allow access to conversations, e-mails, telephone conversations, and the like."

Nicole thought of that night in her bedroom with Danielle. Had Kira been listening? And why? A rush of angry embarra.s.sment enflamed her face. "What right do you have to do that?"

"The Patriot Act gives us the right." She got to her feet. "Now tell me, who'd you come here to meet and why?"

"The Patriot Act? You can't be serious." She threw out a hand into the air, needled. "For kissing a girl?"

It was Kira's turn to look surprised, but she recovered quickly.

"I didn't think Danielle was your type." She leaned back against the desk. "Guess the old cliche is true." She pursed her lips. "There's no accounting for taste."

Nicole had a sudden violent urge to reach out and slap Kira across her cheek. Instead, she stood up. "You have the wrong person. Your computer sniffer thingamajig screwed up. Bad intelligence. I've never even had a speeding ticket. And if you want to know the truth, I sort of suck at speaking Arabic."

Kira remained motionless. "Did Danielle ever mention her father is a colonel in the army?"