unsmiling face of Wu Kim Li’s father.
“This is our most recent photo of Dr. Wu Xia-Dong. The photo was hard to come by, as he hasn’t traveled outside North Korea in almost a decade. His government keeps him on a short leash. No surprise, considering he’s one of their foremost nuclear weapons engineers.”
“Uh-oh. I’m guessing that doesn’t make him real popular with the White House.”
“To put it mildly.”
Relations between the United States and North Korea, always shaky, had deteriorated steadily in recent months over Korea’s stubborn determination to develop nuclear weapons. The situation had become so tense that the State Department had warned U.S. citizens to think twice about doing business with or traveling to North Korea. As Dayna studied the face on the screen, she wondered how much Dr. Wu had contributed to those tensions.
“What’s the thinking?” she asked. “Why did Kim Li whisper that urgent message about her father’s attendance at the golf tournament in Scotland?”
“The CIA has picked up subtle vibes that Wu is chafing under the constraints his government imposes on him. They’re convinced he wants to defect. Your task will be to find out if that’s true and, if so, effect the escape.”
Nick didn’t have to tell his agent how absolutely vital this op was to U.S. national security. Her low whistle indicated she’d grasped the implications immediately.
“What about the daughter? Is she in on this, too?”
“We think so.”
He brought another photo up on the screen. This one captured Wu Kim Li in midswing, displaying the perfect form and incredible power that had led the media to christen her Tigress Wu.
“As you well know,” Nick said, “she makes millions in product endorsements. Since she lives in a Communist state, however, only a fraction of those revenues come to her personally.”
“If that,” Dayna commented. “I’ve competed against athletes from Communist countries. The State produces them, the State reaps the reward. Particularly North Korea. They won’t let their athletes train anywhere but in their own country.”
“Precisely. And Wu has more than product endorsements to tempt her. She’s hinted that she’s interested in a possible career in the movies.”
“She certainly has the face and figure for it,” Dayna agreed. “Too bad she’s such a little bitch. Hollywood will have trouble casting her as anything but a werewolf.”
Nick left the photo on the screen as he studied his field agent. Wu Kim Li wasn’t the only athlete with the face and figure to make it big in Hollywood. Rogue’s shoulder-length tumble of honey-colored hair framed a face dominated by sculpted cheekbones and wide, forest-green eyes. Regular and strenuous exercise had honed her body to a perfect symmetry of line and curve. Posters of her lithe form molded by the wet suit she’d worn in her last run for Olympic gold still sold for megabucks on eBay.
“Think you can get past Wu’s bitchiness and gain her trust?”
“The first task, sure. The second task might be tougher. I’ll find some way to connect, though.”
Lightning nodded. Rogue was one of his top operatives. If anyone could crack through Wu Kim Li’s ring of bodyguards and watchdogs, she could.
“While you work the daughter, Hawkeye will work the father.”
Surprised, Rogue flicked a glance at the world map on the wall of the Control Center. Signals sent via GPS satellites pinpointed the exact location of the three OMEGA agents currently in the field. One of them was Mike Callahan, code name Hawkeye.
“Isn’t Hawk in Algeria?”
“He is, but he’s about to wrap things up there. He’ll fly from Algiers and connect with you in Scotland.”
“Good. We work well together.”
No surprise there, Nick thought. A former military cop and world-class sharpshooter, Mike Callahan had racked up almost as many trophies and titles in his field of expertise as Dayna had in hers. They had nothing but respect for each other—on and off the job.
Now, for the tricky part.
Hitting the switch, Nick took Wu Kim Li’s face off the screen and replaced it with an aerial map of Scotland. The town of St. Andrews sat midway up the east coast, at the tip of a peninsula that jutted into the North Sea. Zooming in, Nick focused on the Royal Air Force Base a few kilometers from the town.
“If you confirm the Wus want to defect, the best place for the extraction is here, at RAF Leuchars.”
Dayna agreed with his assessment. “It’s been years since I played St. Andrews, but I remember seeing British fighters landing and taking off from the base.”
“British fighters aren’t the only planes bedded down at RAF Leuchars. The U.S. also has a detachment of B-2 Stealth bombers there.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“Few people do. The British government is under intense fire for its support of the Iraqi War. A growing antiwar movement doesn’t want to see that support continue or expand. When word leaked that the B-2s might go in at RAF Fairford, in the south of England, suspected al-Qaeda sympathizers infiltrated what began as a peaceful protest march and turned it into a near riot. As a result, the U.S. and U.K. governments decided to bed the B-2s down farther north, outside St. Andrews. So far the presence of the bombers at RAF Leuchars has remained an unconfirmed rumor among the local populace.”
He swiveled his chair, turning away from the screen to watch Rogue’s reaction to his next comment.
“We have a detachment of USAF aircrews and support personnel at RAF Leuchars. One of the pilots is Captain Luke Harper.”
Rogue was good. Damned good. Her green eyes showed only a bare flicker of emotion.
“Luke and I are ancient history.”
Not that ancient. The romance between one of America’s most promising—and photogenic—athletes and her handsome young lieutenant had made for great TV spots during the hype leading up to the 2004 Olympics. They were the perfect couple—the tanned, charismatic golden girl with the flashing smile and infectious enthusiasm for her sport and the air-force pilot she’d met while they were both students at the University of Colorado.
Their romance died an abrupt death six months before the Olympics. In subsequent interviews, Dayna had turned aside the inevitable questions about her love life with a laugh and vague references to the difficulty of sustaining a long-distance relationship. There had been no lack of men in her life in the years since, but none had lasted long or generated the kind of intense media interest as her first and very public love.
“I can have Harper transferred off the base if you think he might compromise this op in any way,” Lightning told her. “Just say the word.”
Rogue had been in the business too long to dismiss the suggestion without giving it serious consideration. Lips pursed, she examined the issue from all angles.
“The only problem I see is if the media picks up on his presence and connects him to the Stealth Bombers.”
“Security at the base is airtight. As far as the general public knows, the USAF personnel stationed there are attached to the RAF fighter wing as part of an exchange program. I’m more concerned that Harper’s presence might impact your performance in the tournament.”
Rogue didn’t hesitate this time. “Breaking up with Luke Harper didn’t throw me off stride in the Olympics. After all these years, the mere fact that he’s stationed at an air base a few kilometers away isn’t going to affect my game.”
Which brought them around to another touchy subject, one Lightning suspected might generate even more sparks.
The Women’s International Pro-Am Charity Tournament