who were talking to North Korea’s leader and would have accepted money in exchange for information on pressure transducer technology. That was all Carson and his team were able to glean. The terrorists in Myanmar were in contact with someone, presumably someone from the United States, who had access to technology that would help North Korea manufacture their own transducer.
Transducers were used in gas centrifuges to produce weapons-grade uranium. That had been enough to send Carson and his team in to stop the transfer. They were never able to confirm success.
They had never learned the identity of the person who was going to bring the technology, only knew through the terrorists that the meeting would take place. Somehow the terrorists discovered their presence and a gunfight had erupted. One of Carson’s teammates had gone after the man the terrorists were supposed to meet. But the man got away, and Carson’s teammate had been killed. The plan had been to capture the man and interrogate him, along with stopping him from transferring sensitive US technology to an arms-embargoed country.
“They didn’t get the technology,” Carson said.
“Right. But then why did someone go after you?”
Why would the terrorists or the mystery man try to kill him if they didn’t have the technology? “Maybe the mystery man still had it and they’re waiting to arrange a new meet.”
“So they think killing you would facilitate that?”
Copeland was right. It didn’t make sense. Killing Carson and anyone else on the team wouldn’t stop the US military from organizing a mission to stop another transfer attempt.
“They’d want me alive if they thought I had it.” But why would they think he had it? And if the mystery man had it to begin with, what had happened to cause him to lose it? “Maybe they want revenge.”
Carson may not have been the easiest target to find after leaving the military, and it would take planning to attack him in San Diego. AdAir Corp had security, and the ranch had a security system. And if they believed Carson and his team had taken the data, they would presume they had given it to the US government. Carson or his teammates wouldn’t hang on to it. The revenge motive made sense in that regard.
But how had the mystery man lost the data? Carson had gone over the mission many times. He could think of no incident during the gunfight when someone could have taken the data. The mystery man had to have gotten away with it, or not had it with him at all.
“I’ve asked Morris to talk to the North Korean border guard he’s coerced to help us.”
“He’s in contact with a North Korean guard? How’d he manage that?”
“We’ll get him out of North Korea in exchange. He’s getting scared, though. Just before you called with the news that someone tried to kill you, Morris learned two North Korean engineers were executed and their families sent to prison camps. We believe this occurred after they failed to obtain the technology.”
“Isn’t it a little rash executing the brains behind his nuclear weapons program?”
“He recruited another engineer. Dual Chinese-Canadian citizen who got a green card and an education.”
“Who’s the engineer?”
Copeland gave him the name. “He isn’t the man we’re looking for.”
The engineer might be part of another mission. In fact, Carson didn’t doubt it. He felt a moment of regret that he couldn’t be part of it. But he was part of this mission.
“I’m happy to continue to be bait,” he said. “Draw the mystery man out.” If he’d shot at him once, he’d try again.
Copeland nodded. “That’s the main reason I asked you to meet me here. This all has to be kept secret. You aren’t part of the team anymore, but you’re my best chance at catching that man.”
“Thanks.”
“I’m not doing it because I feel sorry for you. Man up if you’re having a tough time dealing with that.” Copeland pointed to his lame leg.
Carson grinned. The commander had set him straight. “Yes, sir. I’ll do my best.”
“Good, because I need you. Our problem here is that if the North Koreans didn’t get the technology and we didn’t bring it home, where is it?”
The best way to find out was to expose the mystery man, whom Carson believed was the same one who shot at him, the one who would have made the transfer, but for whatever reason, hadn’t.
“What did the San Diego police have?” Carson asked.
Copeland’s face lit with the good question. “Ah. They traced the car to a rental company. Whoever rented it used false identification. A background came up with somebody who’s been dead for fifteen years. They’re looking for the car now and I’m looking into who might have traveled from Myanmar, or anywhere near there, during the time of the mission.”
Carson nodded. That sounded promising. And despite Copeland’s lack of sympathy, Carson was thrilled to be part of the team again.
* * *
Georgia’s bracelets jingled as she brushed her long hair back over her shoulder and stepped by a row of treasure-lined shelves inside a village bookstore. It was an independent bookstore and the most delightful she’d ever seen. Converted from an old house, it had nooks and cozy seating areas and walls of books. Carson had reserved rooms at an old Victorian inn a short walk from here. The inn was on a farm with white fences and cows. Very upscale and also very soothing in a country way. The village was full of boutique shops and there was even a spa. She was glad Carson wasn’t here to see her melt in pleasure.
He’d left her here and drove to Camp Lejeune to meet with his commander. A classified meeting. Carson had been part of an elite military team and his missions fought terrorism and protected national security. The notion of him in that role clashed mightily with what she expected to encounter when she and Ruby arrived in San Diego. A hero. Carson Adair. An Adair. Hero. The two bounced around in her head, and she kept pushing back the hero version. The bookstore helped. It was like therapy, being among the thing she loved most on earth—books—in a place like this with creaky old floors and the smell of candles, potpourri and ink, made it easy not to think of Carson as a big bad heroic soldier.
Georgia purchased a book amid the soft tinkle of piano music and left with a satisfied smile. Walking up the street toward the white inn, she passed a linen-table restaurant that was only open for dinner and a gift shop. As she drew closer, she saw a limo parked in front of the inn. And then she saw Carson. He stood next to the open back door, waiting for her. Standing tall and lean and handsome in dark jeans and another Henley, he looked as if he’d just stepped out of an ad for a yacht.
She saw him notice her outfit, from the silver flower earrings to the silver boots that went with her gray knitted cardigan over a white T-shirt and dark low-rise jeans.
“Hi,” she said, and then feared there was too much enthusiasm in the greeting. Big bad soldier. Hero.
“Hi.” He grinned. “Let’s go get ice cream.” He opened the door wider and stepped out of the way to allow her inside.
She slid onto the leather seat and he got in after her.
“How did your meeting go?” She looked down his muscled torso to his long, thick legs. If not for his injury, he could probably run really far for a long, long time. He probably had when he was in the military. But he still had stamina for other activities...
“Good.”
His brief answer diverted her attention. “Just good?” That’s all she’d get?
“We’re a long way from finding out who shot at me.” He looked down at the small shopping bag she’d put beside her with her purse. “Did you buy something?”
“There’s a bookstore in the village.” She restrained her excitement and stopped