Ana Leigh - Reconcilable Differences

“He belongs to a splinter group of the IRA. He murdered a member of the CIA in Belfast last month,” Baker said. “Intelligence has traced McDermott to the home of Ali bin Muzzar in Northwest Africa. The Moroccan sheik’s known to be sympathetic to the Irish cause, any terrorist cause for that matter. According to intelligence bin Muzzar has a private army of about two hundred. We’re hoping you’ll be able to get in and out without being observed or identified.”

Yeah, right! Easy for you to say! Dave thought.

At that moment Baker’s phone rang. After a short conversation the secretary general slammed the phone down and the ex-marine let out a string of expletives as long as his tattooed arm.

Dave and Mike Bishop exchanged meaningful glances. “Bad news, sir?” Bishop asked.

“Couldn’t be worse. Intelligence just reported that in addition to McDermott, a Robert and Patricia Manning arrived today at the palace. Manning’s an American businessman and a former Harvard classmate of bin Muzzar.”

“You figure this Manning has a connection to the IRA?” Dave asked.

Baker shrugged. “Hard to say. His name or picture hasn’t popped up on any database. Neither has his wife’s. Could be just a matter of bad timing on this Manning’s part. Try to avoid the couple.”

Baker got up and walked around the edge of his desk to Dave. “Good luck to you and your squad, Agent Cassidy. We want this guy badly.”

Dave recognized a dismissal when he heard one. He stood up, the two men shook hands, and then Dave headed for the door. Mike Bishop followed him out.

“So how’s Ann?” Dave asked.

“Pregnant and contented—and even more beautiful. I don’t think Barney Hailey will ever get her back behind a camera again. She loves motherhood.”

“And what about the impending father? How does he like the prospects of becoming a parent?”

“What do you mean prospects? I am a father. Brandon and I have a great relationship. I love the kid,” he said, referring to the six-year-old Mike and Ann had legally adopted. “And I can’t wait for our daughter to be born.”

Dave shook his head. “Why can’t I visualize you bouncing a baby on your knee?”

Chuckling, Mike slapped Dave on the shoulder. “Three more months, pal.”

Then Bishop’s grin faded. “Dave, be careful. Regardless of what Baker said, if it gets too hot, get out of there fast. We can get McDermott another time. What do you think of Addison?”

“Seems young.”

“He’s twenty-seven. That’s older than some of us were when we joined.”

“Right now I feel every day of my thirty-four years,” Dave said. “The kid seems to get along well with the rest of the team. Since this is his first mission with us, I’ll feel better when we get back.”

Mike slapped him on the shoulder. “Hey, pal, didn’t we all have to go through our first mission at one time or another?”

They shook hands and Dave headed back to where his squad waited to be briefed.

The following night as they neared the North African coastline Cassidy thought of that conversation with Mike Bishop. Addison looked nervous. But Mike was right. All the guys on the squad had gone through it. Besides, Bishop never would have assigned Addison to the squad if he didn’t think the kid was ready.

Mike Bishop had been the leader of the Dwarf Squad, considered to be the elite special ops team of RATCOM—the Rescue and Anti-Terrorist unit of the CIA—until six months ago, when he’d been promoted to deputy secretary. At that time Dave had been moved up to squad leader.

The squad had been together for years. He, Bishop, Bolen and Fraser were all ex-SEALs. Williams and Bledsoe were Brits who had formerly served in England’s SAS. They’d become a close-knit brotherhood and they trusted one another implicitly, in or out of combat.

Justin Addison had a rough road ahead of him before he’d gain that kind of trust from the squad. He’d grown up in the Bronx and was street-smart and tough enough physically, but it was yet to be proven if he had the kind of smarts needed for the job. It took a lot more than just physical strength and courage to be on a special ops squad. And even though he had trained with the navy SEALs for a year, he had never been on a mission, so he was still an unproven commodity as far as Dave was concerned. But Baker and Bishop must have seen something in Addison to offer him the opportunity to become a member of the CIA’s legendary Dwarf Squad.

Well, Addison’s first real test now lay ahead because there was no longer any time to ponder the issue. The airman opened the chopper door and dropped down two ropes. The squad moved to the door and lined up. Dave led off on one, Bolen on the other. Once on the ground they regrouped and within seconds were on their way.

When Trish came downstairs she was surprised to discover there were only four for dinner, and she was the lone woman. Had she known that, she would have feigned a headache and remained in her bedroom.

The other guest was an Irishman named McDermott. He was very reticent and made no attempt to join the dinner conversation. For that matter neither did she. Robert and Ali were doing all the talking.

As she observed them, she realized the three men were as different as day and night. She couldn’t imagine what they might have in common.

Granted, Robert and Ali had been classmates at Harvard, but physically they were opposites. Robert was tall and blond, very handsome, suave and socially charming. It was these characteristics that had foolishly attracted her to him to begin with.

Ali, on the other hand, was dark, squat and obese, with a lecherous gleam in his dark eyes. She wanted to shower every time he looked at her. He made no attempt to conceal his attitude about women; one that she openly challenged. His amused smile always indicated how seriously he took her objections. The arrogant chauvinist was as obnoxious as Robert.

At least Colin McDermott appeared to find both Robert and Ali as unlikable as she did, as well as seeming anxious to get out of there. She couldn’t fault him for that, since it paralleled her own thinking.

McDermott appeared to be about six feet tall with the pale skin of a redhead and a blue-eyed gaze that he kept shifting around. He looked like a trapped ferret. He expressed his impatience when Ali called for another bottle of wine.

“It’d be to my liking to be getting on with the business I’ve come here for,” McDermott said. “I’ve given the diamonds to Manning to examine, and I’d like to finish the transaction and get out of here.”

“I haven’t had time to examine them, Mr. McDermott,” Robert replied. “I’ll do so first thing in the morning.”

“Patience, my friend,” bin Muzzar said to the Irishman. “Tomorrow we can conduct our business. Tonight we have the pleasure of a lovely dinner companion. We don’t want to bore her with such mundane conversation.”

“Then I’ll be going to my room. I want an early start in the morning, bin Muzzar.” The Irishman stomped off without any attempt at graciousness.

“I have to say, Ali, your friend is not much for manners,” Robert said.

“But he makes sense,” Trish said. “I would like us to have an early start tomorrow, too, Robert. So I think I will retire to my room.”

“Oh, not until you taste this wine, my dear,” bin Muzzar said. “It’s been aged to perfection.” He poured some wine into a silver goblet and handed it to her, and then filled his and Robert’s goblets.

“To a very pleasant evening that can only become more delightful,” he said.

“Here, here!” Robert said in agreement.

Trish’s gaze swept the room over the top of the silver goblet as she took a sip of the vintage wine. Bin Muzzar’s palace was a mixture of wealth and tastelessness.