The African Trilogy Boxed Set (Lust, Money & Murder #7, 8 & 9)

By Mike Wells

This specially-priced boxed set contains the entire African Trilogy from the “unputdownable” Lust, Money & Murder series by Mike Wells. Included are 3 full-length novels: Lust, Money & Murder Books #7, 8 & 9, plus a bonus from the next trilogy in the series.
Note: this trilogy can be read as a standalone. If you have already purchased Lust, Money & Murder Books 7, 8, and 9 separately, you should not buy this boxed set.

The African Trilogy, Book 1 (Lust, Money & Murder #7)

When U.S. Secret Service Agent Elaine Brogan and her husband are called to the American Embassy in Paris, they believe they’re about to receive an award. Instead, they’re separated and thrown into a treacherous adventure that neither of them could have ever imagined. From a black site at some unknown location, to Morocco, to Chad, and finally to the war-torn region of Darfur, Elaine fights to free herself and arrest the man responsible. In addition to Elaine and Nick, the The African Trilogy features the usual cast of Lust, Money & Murder characters - Luna Faye, Dmitry, Tony, and the notorious Giorgio Cattoretti.

The African Trilogy, Book 2 (Lust, Money & Murder #8)

In an extraordinary twist of fate, Elaine Brogan and Luna Faye end up joining forces with Giorgio Cattoretti to try to take down Raj Malik. At the end of Book 1, Elaine learned that Raj was smuggling diamonds out of a secret mine in Central Africa. Her mission is to go to Chad and find the location of the mine at all costs. Can she pull it off? And can she really trust Giorgio Cattoretti?

The African Trilogy, Book 3 (Lust, Money & Murder #9)

While in Sudan, Elaine Brogan receives new information about Stanley Ketchum, and it's a game changer. She realizes that the plan that she and Giorgio Cattoretti agreed upon to have Raj Malik arrested will no longer work without significant modification. Will The Cat go along with it? And can she avoid the deadly Janjaweed warriors and escape from Sudan alive?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mike Wells
• Release date: Oct 7, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005438920

Mike Wells

Mike Wells is an American bestselling author of more than thirty "unputdownable" thriller and suspense novels, including Lust, Money & Murder and Passion, Power & Sin. He is also known for his young adult books, such as The Mysterious Disappearance of Kurt Kramer, The Wrong Side of the Tracks, and Wild Child, which are used by English teachers in high schools and colleges worldwide. Formerly a screenwriter, Wells has a fast-paced, cinematic writing style. His work is often compared to that of the late Sidney Sheldon, with strong and inspiring female heroes, tightly-written scenes, engaging action/dialogue, and numerous plot twists. He currently lives in Europe and has taught in the Creative Writing program at the University of Oxford.

Book preview

Part I

The African Trilogy

Book 1

Cattoretti’s Return

1

Burgundy, France

It was a perfect June day, the temperature in the high seventies. The warm summer air buffeted through Elaine Brogan’s shoulder-length blonde hair as the Dodge Charger cruised along the Route des Grands Crus , or road of the great wines.

Nick LaGrange was at the wheel of the car, relaxed.

Elaine was excited. Yesterday morning she had received a phone call from Raj Malik asking her and Nick to meet him today at the American Embassy in Paris. Her first thought had been that they would be receiving some kind of official commendation for the work they had done on the Giorgio Cattoretti case.

We might be up for the Meritorious Service Award, or the Award for Valor, she’d told Nick after she hung up the phone with Raj.

Nick gave a sarcastic laugh. Yeah, right.

"Well, it might be an award, you never know. The Ambassador always presents those when the recipients are overseas. Raj’s office was at the Interpol Headquarters in Lyon, where the main U.S. Secret Service office was housed. Why else would he invite us to the embassy?"

I can think of a dozen reasons why, Nick muttered, and none of them are good. He chuckled, glancing at her, and noting her new haircut and nail polish. Honey, when are you going to learn? We do all the dirty work and the higher ups get all the credit. We’re probably going to get chewed out for breaking so many rules or get a lecture about not violating our security clearances.

He wouldn’t want to meet us at the embassy for that.

Nick only grunted.

Elaine refused to let her husband’s cynicism spoil her lovely mood. Instead of flying to Paris to meet Raj, they had decided to drive up and enjoy the nice weather, and had set out almost immediately after receiving the call. They had spent the night at a romantic little hotel in Gevrey-Chambertin. It was wonderful to have some relaxing time to themselves. They’d eaten a delicious dinner, made love, and then got into the hot tub together for a glass of wine.

Now, as Elaine gazed out at the endless villages and vineyards scattered along either side of the highway, with Nick beside her, she felt content for the first time in years, perhaps for the first time in her life. Nick had stopped doing extractions for the CIA, and the Giorgio Cattoretti case was finally behind her. She was no longer worried about leaving the kids at home with Tony looking after them. Cattoretti had not exactly given his word that he would never bother her family again, but Elaine’s instincts told her that he would abide by her request. Their final encounter had left a strange, unspoken understanding between them. They were still enemies, yes, she was still a Secret Service agent and he was still a wanted criminal. But she felt that the fact that she had let him go, and that he had given her the name of the mole inside the KBA Giori plant in return, had created a kind of mutual respect.

Nick glanced at his watch as they passed another winery, the hill behind it dotted with lovely limestone houses with orange tiled roofs. We still have time for one more wine tasting, he said. What do you say?

The Embassy of the United States of America in Paris is located on the Avenue Gabriel, in the city’s 8th Arrondissement. The four-story chancery, which houses the ambassador’s office, looks onto the Avenue Gabriel and the gardens of the Champs-Élysées and Place de la Concorde, with its spectacular statues, fountains, and gilded columns.

On top of the Chancery, hidden from view, is a sight that is not so beautiful—a cluster of antennas that comprise an electronic spying unit set up by the CIA to monitor the phone conversations of French presidents, who reside only a short distance from the embassy.

Nick and Elaine arrived fifteen minutes early for their three o’clock appointment.

A heavily armed security guard watched the Charger pull up to one of the employee entrances, protected by a massive gate with spikes running across the top.

We have an appointment with Raj Malik, Nick said.

Your names?

Nick LaGrange and Elaine Brogan.

The guard ran his finger down a clipboard. Meanwhile, another guard was already moving a telescopic inspection mirror beneath the chassis of the car to check for bombs, the heavy device thumping against the chassis.

Your passports, please?

Nick and Elaine pulled out their documents and handed them to the guard through the window.

The uniformed guard spent a moment checking the photos against their faces, then finally waved at someone else inside the guardhouse.

There was a loud buzz. The spiked gate began to roll to the side, with both guards now carefully watching the street. Park around to the left, in one of the visitor’s spaces.

Nick started to press on the accelerator, but looked back at the guard who had spoken. What about our passports?

We’ll hold on to ‘em. Be quick about it, please, we can’t keep the gate open!

Nick quickly drove through the gap and found the visitor’s spaces—there was only one slot left.

Nick opened the door to get out, but Elaine pulled out her compact to check her makeup.

Dolling yourself up for the photographers? Nick said, with a snicker.

Well, you never know. She looked him over as they climbed out of the car—at least he was wearing slacks and his best sport coat. She’d tried to get him to wear a tie, but getting Nick to don a tie was like getting a gorilla to wear a tutu.

They headed across the parking lot towards the entrance, which had more gates and more guards, along with the usual metal detector and x-ray machines. Elaine had never been to the Paris embassy before. As they stepped inside the door and entered the security checkpoint, she did not see a full body scanner—at least she would be spared that humiliation.

ID’s please, another armed guard said when they stepped inside. They handed over their Secret Service badges.

The man nodded and gave them back. You’ll need to surrender your service weapons.

We’re not armed, Nick said, glancing at Elaine. Neither of us. They had seen no reason to bring pistols to a meeting at a U.S. Embassy.

Keys, rings, phones, belts, anything metal goes in these, the guard said, handing them baskets. You’ll both need to take off your shoes as well.

They passed through the metal detector with no problem and then recovered their things from the baskets. Nick muttered to himself the whole time—he hated having to go through any kind of security checkpoint.

A man in a blue suit appeared. Ms. Brogan, Mr. LaGrange?

Nick nodded. Elaine smiled and said Yes?

Follow me, please.

The man let them both walk ahead. He touched Elaine lightly on the back as they passed through a side door, then guided them down a long hallway, down two flights of stairs, and then along another long, white, sterile-looking hallway. Elaine had heard that for security purposes, the basement of the building had even more floors than the above-ground section.

They were ushered into a room with a plain looking conference table.

Two more men in suits were standing there stoically. Elaine had expected to see Raj and maybe the Ambassador, but these two were strangers to her.

Nick LaGrange? one of the men said.

Nick nodded and reached out to shake his hand, but he looked at Elaine. Elaine Brogan?

Yes—

Turn around and place your hands behind your back. You’re both under arrest.

2

Elaine was in a daze as the shackles were snapped around her wrists.

You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney...

Nick was equally dumfounded. Elaine’s first thought was that this was a joke. But if it was a prank, it was in very bad taste. Her mind flashed back to the time she had been arrested in Moscow by two Secret Service agents who turned out to be slick Russian mafia men.

You have no authority to arrest us here, Nick said. We’re in France, in case you’ve forgotten.

The man who had just finished reading them their rights said, "You’re standing on United States soil, in case you’ve forgotten."

Elaine realized that he was right—the interior of any U.S. Embassy in the world was technically U.S. territory. With a sick feeling, she wondered: did Raj lure us both here so we could be legally arrested? But why?

Finally able to find her voice, she said, in an outraged tone, What is the charge?

At that moment, Raj Malik stepped into the room.

There were no greetings. He looked coldly at Nick, then Elaine, and pulled out a piece of paper. For starters, the charges are conspiracy to provide material support to terrorists. Conspiracy to make false statements. False verbal statements involving a terrorism offense. False written statements involving... He looked up at Elaine. Shall I go on? Without waiting for an answer, he nodded to the men who had a hold of their arms. Put her in Room A and LaGrange in B.

They were both marched out of the door and further down the hallway. Elaine was shoved into a room on the right. She only glimpsed Nick for a split second before he disappeared. The door was slammed in her face and locked from the outside.

She looked around the room in a state of shock, her head swimming, unable to make any sense of what was happening. There was only a folding table and two chairs, one on either side, for questioning.

Elaine’s heart was pounding so hard her whole body shook with each beat. She noticed that there was a mirror along one wall and guessed it was two-way. She told herself to appear calm, to show no signs of guilt. Her wrists were shackled uncomfortably behind her back. She glanced up at the ceiling and noticed a camera in the corner. She casually turned away, facing the locked door again.

Her mind was racing even faster than her heartbeat—the only explanation for all this could be that Raj had somehow found out that she and Nick had let Giorgio Cattoretti go. But how could he have found that out? The two mercenaries that had dropped down to the train from the helicopter had been quite a few cars away from them when they had done it. And she knew Nick had wiped his fingerprints off the coupling, because she had watched him do it. So how could Raj have known they had let The Cat go?

Then a terrifying thought struck her—what if there had been a camera somewhere on the last car of the train? She remembered the End of Train device that Nick had mentioned, the one that replaced cabooses on modern trains. Could it have had a camera attached that caught what they had done on video?

If so, why had it taken Raj six months to do anything about it?

The door opened and Raj stepped into the room. He nodded grimly towards the table. Sit down.

Elaine swallowed and did as she was told, awkwardly pushing back the chair with her calves. He made no move to help her. He remained standing, glowering at her as if she was guilty of treason, hands behind his back.

I’m only going to ask you one question. Did you and your husband detach the last car on that train and let Giorgio Cattoretti go?

So that was it. He had found out, somehow.

All sorts of panicky thoughts ricocheted through her mind at once, colliding with each other. She swallowed again, trembling, staring back at Raj. Should she lie? Or admit the truth and try to defend herself? In the end, Raj had gotten the name of the mole, which was what he was really after. Should she try to justify her actions?

He just stood there, staring at her, waiting.

Elaine opened her mouth, closed it, and opened it again. At the last instant, she changed tack and said, I want to talk to a lawyer.

Raj nodded as if this was what he had expected. He turned and walked out of the room.

The deadbolt snapped shut behind him.

The minutes ticked by. Elaine was frozen in the chair, so scared she could not find the energy to move a muscle. She now understood that she and Nick were in an unimaginable amount of trouble. She had no idea how Raj knew what they had done, but there was no question that he did know and was confident about whatever supporting evidence he had.

The question was: what he would do with them now?

Elaine turned and looked at the door handle, remembering again the time she had been duped at the airport in Moscow. But this was no dupe, this was the real thing. She wasn’t unknowingly locked in the Aeroflot baggage handler’s break room. She was in the basement of the United States Embassy in Paris, with layers of guards and walls and fences around her—there was no escape from this government fortress.

Now she wondered what Nick had told Raj. Her guess was that he had said nothing, that he would also assume that Raj had found out what they had done and would keep his mouth shut, probably ask for a lawyer as well.

She sat there in the room for almost half an hour, in a high state of anxiety, before the door opened again.

This time an armed man with a crew cut and wearing military fatigues stepped inside, motioning for Elaine to stand. He grabbed her firmly by the arm and marched her out into the hallway. She glimpsed another man ahead of them who had a hold of Nick’s arm.

Where are we going? Elaine said, her voice wavering with fear.

She received no reply.

Elaine and Nick were escorted to an underground parking garage and hustled into the back of what appeared to be an unmarked SWAT team van. They were seated side-by-side, on a padded bench. Their handcuffs still behind their backs, the guard locked their wrists to a metal bar that ran along the vehicle’s walls.

Elaine could tell Nick was thinking of trying to escape, of kicking the man in the stomach or the head, but there was another soldier standing outside the open doors, a pistol leveled at them.

The man with the pistol stepped around to the front, opened the driver’s door, and climbed behind the wheel. There was a heavy metal screen separating him from the back. The other soldier pulled the back doors shut, locked them, and sat down opposite Nick, expressionless.

The van rolled out of the garage and up to a gate that led out to the street.

Where are we going? Nick said.

The question was ignored.

We have the right to—

You don’t have the right to a goddam thing, the soldier snapped, barely looking at him. You’re in France and you don’t have passports, so keep your mouths shut. He looked at Elaine. Both of you.

Elaine glanced nervously at Nick, and muttered, This has to be illegal.

I said shut up!

We want to talk to a lawyer, Nick said, and he turned to Elaine. Don’t say a word to anybody until we—

The soldier leaned towards Nick, nose to nose. You want me to duct tape your mouth, prick?

Nick didn’t respond. He could have torn the guy in half under ordinary circumstances. Elaine prayed that he could keep his cool. Thankfully, he just sat there, his jaw set, returning the man’s hard stare.

The soldier finally leaned back against the wall of the van, touching the pistol on his hip as if to telegraph to them that he would not hesitate to use it.

Elaine said in a calm, respectful tone, I don’t see why you can’t at least tell us where you’re taking us.

You’re going back to the States, the driver called, glancing at them in the rearview mirror. Now shut up or we will gag both of you. We’re just following orders.

That’s impossible, Elaine thought, with growing alarm. What would happen to Ryan and Amelia? Thank god Tony was there.

When the van pulled onto the A1 highway and headed north from Paris, towards Brussels, Nick had a distinct feeling they were being taken to the Chièvres Air Base in Belgium, the same NATO air force base where many of his extraction missions had originated.

It turned out he was right. After riding two and a half hours in total silence, the van pulled up to the base’s south gate, which he knew well. He thought he even recognized the guard on duty, but there were no windows in the back of the van for the man to get a good look at them.

We’re expected, the driver said, handing over some kind of document. The soldier who had been sitting across from them moved up behind the driver and passed his ID through a slot in the partition. Got a couple of prisoners in the back we’re flying to the States at nineteen hundred hours.

Elaine once again heard the thumping of an inspection mirror being run underneath the chassis to check for bombs.

If you’re extraditing us, she said loudly, where’s the paperwork? She looked at Nick. They’re breaking all kinds of international laws here.

She was ignored.

We can’t be taken to the States! Elaine thought, panicking. It will be days or even weeks before we’re back! What about Ryan and Amelia...?

She took several deep breaths to calm herself, trying not to jump to conclusions. It didn’t help.

The guard waved the vehicle through and the soldier sat back down across from Nick. They drove down a road, then across a tarmac, past several helicopters and fighter jets, and finally were directed into a large hangar. There was a military transport plane waiting for them.

Exactly where in the States are we being taken? Elaine said as the soldier freed her wrists from the wall of the van. Can you at least tell us that?

He looked like he was about to tell her to shut up again, but the driver said, Creech Air Force Base, Nevada.

Elaine looked at Nick as the soldier freed his wrists, wondering if he had any idea what that meant.

Nick shot Elaine a look that told her it would be better if she simply remained silent.

3

Along twelve hours later, the plane touched down. Elaine and Nick were separated the entire time, with him near the front of the windowless transport jet, his wrists and ankles shackled to his seat, and Elaine near the back, shackled to hers the same way. They were too far apart to speak to each other. She had noticed Nick dozing during the flight. She was so keyed up and afraid she could never have dozed off, but it did make her feel a little better. If he was able to sleep then maybe he thought this was all just a mistake or a mixup, and that once they reached the air force base, it would all be sorted out.

A new soldier was watching over them now. He sat about halfway between them and read on a tablet computer the whole time. Elaine was terribly thirsty but was given no water. When she asked to use the toilet the guard merely shook his head. Elaine’s bladder began to feel like it would burst.

After the plane landed, it taxied for a long while and finally came to a stop, the engines winding down. When the door opened, the guard stepped towards her with a black hood in his hand.

Hey! she screamed, as he roughly pulled it over her head.

It’s just for the transfer, he said, and unlocked her from the seat.

She couldn’t see a thing and had to be guided down the stairs. A helicopter was landing somewhere nearby, a dry, hot wind blowing hard as the noise increased.

Nick? she cried, as her head was pushed down and guided under the rotors.

I’m here, baby, he said from behind her.

She lost one of her high heels as she climbed the stairs. My shoe! she said, but was ignored. She was sweating under the hood and felt like she couldn’t breathe.

Once inside the chopper and secured to the seat, the guard finally took off the hood. She blew her hair out of her sweaty face, turning to look for Nick. Again, he was shackled in a seat far away from her, facing the cockpit.

I have to go to the bathroom! she said, but the guard ignored her.

The chopper was in the air for more than an hour. Elaine no longer believed they were going to Creech Air Force Base, or Nevada or even the United States. She was even more scared. But the pain in her bladder, combined with hunger and thirst, almost outweighed her fear. She could not believe she was being treated like this! Not even given a glass of water.

It was dark outside, but Elaine was too far away from the helicopter’s windows to see anything. Finally her ears started popping and she realized they were descending.

The guard got up and threw the damn hood over her head again. She cursed him now and said she was going to sue him and the U.S. Air Force and anyone else involved in this illegal fiasco, but her threats sounded hollow, even to her.

She was hustled into another vehicle, and the hood was finally taken off. Thank goodness Nick was still with her. Elaine looked around. They were in what appeared to be a paddy wagon, shackled to the benches. The driver’s area was completely sealed off from the back. The two soldiers who secured them were wearing black masks. They made sure the shackles were in place, then got out and shut the door.

The vehicle started moving, with only one dim ceiling light illuminating the back.

At least she and Nick were finally alone and could talk freely.

What the hell is going on, Nick? she whispered, her voice tight with anxiety. Where are they taking us?

He made a slight motion towards a camera that was mounted in the roof just behind the driver’s area. She had already seen it.

Don’t say another word until we talk to a lawyer, Nick said clearly, as if he wanted it recorded. We’re in the United States now and we have constitutional rights.

Did he really believe they were in the United States? Even if they were, Elaine wasn’t sure about any rights they might have right now. Raj had issued the Interpol Red Notice on Giorgio Cattoretti, under the false name, that classified him as a terrorist, and using that, he could bypass quite a few legal procedures. And if they weren’t in the States, then where the hell were they? How long would they be kept here? Would Tony be notified? Could he stay with the children that long? He had a debit card for her bank account...

She struggled to hold her fear in check and decided it was better to play dumb about everything and do what Nick told her.

I’ll get us out of this, he whispered under his breath.

The van was only in transit for three or four minutes before it turned sharply, slowed, and finally came to a stop. Elaine was so desperate to use the toilet she did not think she could hold it more than another minute or two.

She could hear the sound of a heavy garage door closing outside the van somewhere. Then, the van just sat there. The soldiers up in the front were talking to each other and speaking over a radio or walkie-talkie that kept crackling. The voices that responded were too tinny and faint to make out anything specific.

It was stuffy inside the vehicle, but even with all the doors closed, Elaine could already tell they were somewhere in the desert. There was a little sand on the van’s floorboards—her one shoe ground against it when she moved her foot. Finally, the van rocked as the two men climbed out and came around to the rear.

The doors were pulled open.

With their shackles still in place, Elaine and Nick were taken out of the van by the two soldiers.

Standing before them, in front of an open steel door, was a big man in army fatigues with a black hood over his head. His eyes, nose and mouth were visible through the holes, his thick, muscular arms crossed in front of him.

Welcome to the Creech Air Force Base Health Spa, he said, with a crooked smile that was visible through the mask’s mouth hole. You’re going to love it here.

A firm hand on her arm, Elaine was guided across the concrete of the garage and through the secure steel door.

If you lay a hand on her— Nick said from behind, but she was roughly pushed through another door and into a small room. There was another masked figure in army fatigues, this one much shorter and squatty. From the shape Elaine could tell it was a woman.

She had no gun, but there was a black baton swinging from her waist. She unlocked Elaine’s handcuffs and handed them to the muscular man, who stepped outside and shut the door, leaving them alone.

She began snapping on a pair of white latex gloves.

Strip, she said bluntly.

Elaine backed away.

I said strip! She pointed to a basket that was sitting on a table. Put your clothes in there.

You can’t treat me like this, Elaine said in a strained voice. I’m a Secret Service Special Agent.

The woman narrowed her eyes, and she pointed the baton at Elaine’s nose. You’re gonna do as you’re told when you’re on my watch, lady. I don’t have time for any crap.

Elaine swallowed hard, looking at the black nightstick. She had never felt so small and helpless in her life. She stepped out of her one high heel and then took off her suit jacket and put them both in the basket.

Hurry up, I don’t have all day!

Elaine removed the rest of her clothes, humiliated and seething with rage.

By the time Elaine was shoved into her cell, she felt utterly degraded. Elaine was handed a shapeless gray gown-like garment that just covered her knees. It felt rough against her skin—it looked like it was made of burlap.

The guard went out and shut the door. Elaine heard a heavy deadbolt slide closed.

She struggled to maintain her composure, fear coiled inside her stomach like a snake. The concrete floor of the cell felt cold against her bare feet. In one corner was a thin and badly stained mattress. In the other was a dented, stainless steel toilet. In the center of the room was a heavy wooden chair that was bolted to the floor. There was a round, greasy-looking drain next to it.

She noticed there were small piles of sand accumulated in the corners, like little snow drifts.

The place smelled like a sewer.

Elaine’s heart was hammering in her chest. What on earth was happening to her?

She rushed over to the toilet, hesitating only a second before lifting the garment that covered her and unabashedly sitting down—there were cameras in two corners of the ceiling, but her bladder was so painfully full she didn’t care.

When she finished, she noticed there was no mechanism to flush—the steel commode was just mounted over a stinking hole in the ground. It was the source of the awful odor in the room. The fetid air did not feel humid, but dry and dusty.

Elaine slowly moved about the space, inspecting the walls more closely. The cell was dimly illuminated, with only a single bare light bulb that was protected by a metal cage. The walls were covered with some strange clear, porous plastic or rubber material that was not quite opaque.

She pounded her fist against the wall. Nick! she yelled, her voice sounding hoarse. Nick, can you hear me?

There was no reply.

When she pressed her ear to the strange material, she heard absolutely nothing on the other side. It must have been some kind of soundproofing.

She looked around the room again. Above the chair, mounted on the ceiling, was a rectangular gray metal box that looked like an air conditioning unit. Halfway across the ceiling, towards the far wall, was a hole about two feet across, with bars over it. An air vent of some kind, she thought. She could hear, and even feel, the dry wind blowing through it above. That’s how the sand comes in, she reasoned. But the sky was not visible—the opening seemed to be covered with a hood, probably to keep rain out.

Now she could hear the faint rumble of a jet in the distance. She stood stock still, the sound growing louder until it was so intense she wanted to cover her ears, but then it faded away as the aircraft climbed into the sky. She could also hear the chopping sound of helicopter rotors further off.

Jets needed a lot of runway to takeoff and land, so she had to be at an actual airport somewhere, probably a U.S. Air Force base. Maybe she and Nick really were at Creech and had been transferred to the helicopter to some other part of Nevada, for security reasons.

Elaine looked back at the vent in the ceiling. She might be able to see outside if she could get up there...

The bar-covered, rectangular hole was far too high to reach from the floor. She padded back over to the wooden chair and climbed up on the seat. Still too far away to reach the bars. She carefully climbed up on the arms of the chair, balancing with her bare feet.

Sit down! a female voice boomed over speakers somewhere.

Elaine ignored this. Squatting slightly, she prepared to leap up and grab onto the bars, if she could manage to reach them.

Sit down! the voice boomed again just as Elaine sprung into the air. Her fingertips brushed against the iron bars but she couldn’t quite grasp them. She plummeted through empty space to the concrete floor, landing on her side so hard that the wind was knocked out of her with an Uh!

Undaunted, she climbed back up on the chair arms, squatted, and leapt again, ignoring more loud instructions to sit down.

This time she managed to grab one of the bars with her left hand, then caught hold of another one with her right. She swung back and forth for a few seconds like a monkey. Grunting, she pulled herself up until she could press her forehead against the thick iron struts.

Now she could see outside. There was just a wedge of star-studded sky visible through a metal covering over the vent. She could see the silhouette of some low mountains in the distance, a fence with barbed wire coiled over the top, but nothing more. When she twisted her head around and gazed in the opposite direction, she could see the new moon rising just above the horizon. The moon looked huge.

But the moon also looked strange, as if she were on another planet and it was not the Earth’s moon.

The strength in her hands gave out and Elaine dropped down to the concrete, cushioning the impact with her legs and landing on her side again.

The odd-looking image of the moon was still in her mind’s eye. She had to get back up to the vent and take another look at it.

Elaine scrambled back onto the seat of the chair, then the arms, balancing again.

If you don’t sit down you’ll be shackled! the voice boomed over the speakers, but Elaine continued to ignore it. She leaped into the air again, grabbed hold of the bars, pulled herself up, and peered outside.

Now she knew why the moon looked odd. The C-shaped crescent was not slanted at an angle to the horizon, the way it appeared from Pittsburg or New York or Washington or even the south of France. The crescent lay completely on its side, like a U, with both tips almost equidistant above the horizon, as if cradling the stars above.

It looked like the illustration on the cover of the Arabian Nights book she’d read over and over again as a child. Something Nick had taught her from his CIA survival skill training came back to her. In the Northern Hemisphere, the farther south you were on the Earth’s surface, the more tilted the moon’s crescent appeared against the horizon until you reached the equator. At the equator, the crescent looked like a U or inverted U.

She fought the panic rising inside her.

She was somewhere in the Middle East.

The repressed thought that had been trying to fight its way into her consciousness ever since she and Nick had been hustled onto the plane finally ran through her head with crystal clarity, the thought that had been unthinkable.

We’ve been taken to a CIA black site.

4

Elaine struggled to maintain her composure. What would they tell her children? The thought of what would happen to Ryan and Amelia horrified her. Certainly, they wouldn’t put the kids up for adoption...would they? What would they tell them, that Nick and her went MIA?

She was left alone in the cell, plagued with these thoughts for hours. When she yelled and demanded water and food, a small door built into the larger steel cell door opened and a plastic bottle was thrown into the room.

It was a commercially-made bottle of water, but the label had been removed, and the twist-off cap was not sealed. The liquid looked murky, she thought, but she was too thirsty to care.

A moment later, the dead bolt on the door slid open.

Elaine backed away, the just-emptied bottle still in her hand.

Raj Malik stepped into the cell. He was dressed in a suit and carried a folding chair in one hand. He glanced at Elaine, and then motioned to the big wooden chair in the center of the room.

Sit down.

What the hell do you think you’re doing to me? Elaine hissed, unable to control her rage. Treating me like a goddam crimin—

Sit down! he shouted.

Elaine stared at him a moment, breathing hard. He looked as angry as she was. She glanced up at the nearest camera, remembering that she was being watched. Everything was being recorded, surely.

She slowly moved over to the wooden chair and lowered herself into it, glowering at Raj.

He unfolded his own chair and sat down, leaving a large swath of empty concrete between them. She saw his nostrils flare and he gave a little wince—the smell disgusted him, but he tried not to show it.

This made Elaine feel even more humiliated, and ashamed, even though he was the cause of it.

She said, Where are we?

You’ve been told that already. Creech Air Force Base, Nevada.

Of course she knew better. I don’t believe you.

Raj shrugged. "Doesn’t matter what you believe, Elaine. All that matters is what I believe. I want the truth, and I’ll get it eventually. You’ll save yourself and your husband a lot of suffering by just spilling it now."

What are you going to do, torture us? She tried to sound sarcastic, but she could hear the fear in her voice.

Raj watched her a moment without responding. He stroked his thin mustache. Are you going to explain why you let Giorgio Cattoretti go? Or are you going to foolishly continue to whine and ask for lawyers? There will be no lawyers, Elaine. You crossed the line.

She swallowed, her throat already dry again. Look, I made no deal with Cattoretti, if that’s what you’re thinking.

Raj raised an eyebrow. You’re testing my patience, Elaine. We know he had sixty million euros in ransom money after that heist, which is enough to tempt anyone. If you come clean with it now, I will take that into consid—

"I demand to see a lawyer! she screamed, her emotions running away with her. You can’t treat me like this! I’m a federal agent!"

Raj nodded. Very well.

He stood, folded up the chair, and carried it out the door. It closed and the deadbolt snapped shut again.

For a second, Elaine thought maybe he had just been bluffing and was going to comply with her demand, but something about the way he left the room told her otherwise.

She shakily rose from the chair, her bare feet cold against the concrete, and went over to the opposite wall. She again pressed her ear against the squishy plastic material that covered it.

Nick! she shouted thinking maybe he had been unconscious the first time, that he might have resisted the guards and gotten hit over the head—or worse. Nick, can you hear me?

Still nothing.

She stood there for a few minutes, shivering. Then there was the rumble of another jet taking off.

Raj is leaving, she thought. Leaving us alone here.

That thought terrified her.

She glanced over at the door. Over the din of the jet, she thought she heard the deadbolt slide open.

The masked female guard who had strip searched her stepped into the cell, baton in hand.

Suddenly, from above, the machine in the ceiling that she thought was an air conditioner began whirring.

Two silver cables began to descend, with black loops dangling from the ends. They dropped down and stopped just above the arms of the wooden chair.

No! Elaine gasped. She would kill the bitch before she allowed herself to be tied up.

As the woman moved towards her with the baton, Elaine backed away, assuming a martial arts stance, ready to strike.

Elaine sprang to kick her in the head, but in that instant she glimpsed the end of the baton as it rose in the air in between the two of them—there were two shiny metal contacts jutting from the end.

It wasn’t just a baton, she realized—it was a stun gun.

That was her last thought as she blacked out, her body, arms and legs twitching, and collapsed to the floor.

Elaine woke up a moment later to the sound of a whirring motor. She found herself standing in front of the wooden chair, both wrists secured. Or rather, being held in place there—the cables were slowly pulling her arms up towards the ceiling.

Her vision was blurred from the stun gun. Still dazed, she watched the hooded female guard standing there in the dim light, supervising. She was keeping an eye on the cables, glancing down at Elaine’s feet every now and then, until they began to rise off the floor.

Stop, the guard said, motioning to the camera.

The motor quit whirring.

Elaine was so groggy she was almost numb to the fear that engulfed her...she expected the sadistic woman to come at her with the baton again for another shock, or to start beating her with it.

But the guard simply turned around and left the cell.

Elaine peered around the room, trembling, her arms, neck and shoulders already in pain from the uncomfortable position she was in. This can’t be happening to me, she thought. This can’t be happening... What about Amelia, what about Ryan? I am a mother, they can’t be doing this to me. They’re torturing me!

The room was filled suddenly with blinding white light.

Elaine gasped, squeezing her eyes shut. It was so intense it penetrated her eyelids and she saw bright pink. The entire wall in front of her had lit up—there were banks and banks of spotlights behind it.

Then, just as unexpectedly, the room was filled with noise so loud it took a few seconds for Elaine to recognize it.

Music...thrash metal...and some kind of avant-garde classical, maybe Stravinsky...both played simultaneously.

Within minutes, Elaine understood that she was in Hell.

Countless hours later, Elaine was still suspended from the ceiling in the same position, the blinding lights assaulting her eyes, the deafening music relentlessly pounding her eardrums.

Her entire body ached. She felt so sick that she had thrown up and involuntarily emptied her bladder and bowels all over the floor. The cell reeked of her own waste.

It was so bright in the room that when she managed to look up at the vent in the ceiling, she could not tell if it was night or day.

The music, if you could call it that, finally stopped. At the same instant, the bright lights went off.

Elaine hung there, sobbing.

Somebody was unlocking the door.

She twisted her head to look, spikes of pain shooting through her neck, her hair hanging in her face.

The masked female guard stepped into the cell, dragging a garden hose along with her. She looked at the mess on the floor, then glanced up at Elaine, her lips twisted in disgust. God, you stink.

She raised the hose and squeezed the lever on the nozzle.

Elaine screamed as a rock-hard rod of freezing cold water shot out and ripped across her torso and legs. The masked sadist stepped closer and guided the hose under Elaine’s burlap garment, the angry stream ripping across her crotch and between her legs. The woman stepped back and aimed it at Elaine’s head and shoulders, whipping it across back and forth, up and down, as if washing an animal. She then turned and aimed the nozzle down at the floor, using the stream to push all the filth towards the drain, until it all disappeared, making a gurgling sound.

What kind of...animal...are you? Elaine sobbed. How can you...treat me...like this?

The woman did not react to this at all. She silently dragged the hose back outside, and closed the door, snapping the deadbolt shut.

For a blessed moment, the cell was quiet.  The only sound in the dimly lit room was the trickle of the remaining water going down the drain.

Then the lights came back on.

Hell returned.

5

Elaine lost all sense of time. She had no idea how long the nightmare continued. Hours, days, weeks? What if it became years? What if her children were already living with a strange family? Could they have forgotten her already? If not, how long would it take them to forget her? Would they ever know the truth? What if she never saw them again?

That thought was too much for her to bear. Mercifully she passed out.

When she regained consciousness, she was only aware of pain—pain in her arms, shoulders, and back, and in her eyes and ears. Sleep was a thing of the past. The misery was only interrupted every so often when the masked female guard entered the room and hosed her down with the frigid water.

She was finally given something to eat. Or more accurately, to drink. In the same dirty plastic bottle, it was water mixed with some kind of awful tasting nutritional supplement, which she had trouble keeping down. She ceased to have solid bowel movements and only gushed liquid.

If there was any positive aspect to the hell she was submerged in, it was that the misery was so intense she found it impossible to think. The onslaught of sensory input completely overwhelmed her brain. On some level it was as if she, Elaine Brogan, ceased to exist. Her life with Nick and her beloved children now seemed like it belonged to somebody else, as if she had been snatched out of it and dropped into this abominable place, which might have been on another planet, or in another dimension.

Sleep deprivation.

That single thought came to her from time to time. That was the method of torture they were using on her. Enhanced Interrogation Techniques. Wasn’t that what the CIA called them? All the things they were doing to her were mainly to keep her awake. Her head hung to the side, and drooling, she remained in a state that was almost dozing...but not quite, the ear-splitting and eye-watering sensory input simply too overwhelming for her brain to shut out.

After a while she began to have horrific unbidden hallucinations that seemed to be triggered by the music. There were no actual words sung in the thrash metal songs, just gibberish screamed by some angry male vocalist at the top of his lungs, a man she imagined looked like the Devil, with blood red eyes and a forked tongue. She guessed the unintelligible lyrics were designed to dredge up repressed garbage from her subconscious mind...sometimes it sounded like he was screeching I’m gonna put a hot knife through your eye and other times it sounded like I’m gonna put a steel spike through your thigh, and phrases that were much more heinous.

Some of the hallucinations were replays of actual events from Elaine’s real life, traumatic episodes mostly from her childhood. One was the day she was informed that her father had killed himself in his jail cell, only in these torture-induced visions she could see him hanging there, kind of like she was now, his head lolled to the side, his blue tongue hanging out, his eyes bulging.

Another was the time that she had to do a book report in the third grade. She did not have time to use the toilet beforehand and had peed all over herself halfway through her presentation, with all the kids laughing as the urine ran down her legs and puddled around her feet on the tile floor.

But the worst vision was the incident with the stray dog. That one kept coming back to her over and over again. Elaine was only ten at the time. The canine was a mongrel—part German Shepard and part something else, not quite full grown—which she had befriended when she was playing down the street and had brought home. Nobody in the neighborhood knew where the dog came from and, as she was still grieving over her mother abandoning her, her father had let her keep it. The animal had a mean streak and often snapped at people, but for some reason he never even growled at Elaine—she had some uncanny way of calming him by soothingly speaking to him and stroking his head. Her father told her that the dog was mean because of how he had been treated as a puppy.

She decided to name him Goldie, because of his coloring. Only a week after Elaine had taken the animal home, he snapped at the mailman when Elaine was playing with him in the front yard. The bite did not break the skin but the mailman got mad and called Patrick that night, and her father told her to keep Goldie inside at all times, because their house was not fenced in. A few days later the dog slipped out the back door and the next thing Elaine knew he had bitten a teenager who was riding past the house on a bicycle. Three bites, and they were deep. It was a Sunday, and Patrick had been home. An hour later, the boy’s father called and said he was going to file a lawsuit for negligence, take them for all they were worth, that an animal like that needed to be put to sleep—Elaine could hear him screaming all of this over the phone.

After Patrick hung up, he calmly walked down to the basement, opened the top drawer of his metal desk, and pulled out his .38 revolver.

No, daddy! Elaine screamed, but he went back upstairs and took Goldie by the collar and dragged the growling, snapping animal out into the backyard.

Wailing, Elaine watched her father bind the dog’s neck tightly to a tree, running a rope through the collar and around the trunk so the canine’s head was almost stationary.

Please don’t do it, daddy! she cried. Please don’t kill Goldie!

Lainey, sometimes you can’t take the meanness out of a creature, no matter what you do. This dog is dangerous. When he’s full grown, it could kill somebody—don’t you understand that?

But he never snaps at me! she sobbed.

Patrick looked back at the dog sympathetically. Somebody mistreated this poor animal when he was a puppy, sweetheart, and there’s nothing else to be done. It will be so quick he won’t even know what happened. He won’t feel a thing, I promise. Patrick motioned towards the house. Go back inside and cover your ears.

Elaine had gone back into the house, but she hadn’t covered her ears.

The crack of that gunshot had haunted her all her life.

And now, in the prison cell, it haunted her again—she heard it over and over again, buried in the deafening noise that hammered her eardrums.

6

Secret Service Training Academy

---

Laurel, Maryland

Luna Faye was just finishing up her last martial arts class in the afternoon when she heard her personal cell phone vibrating on the table across the room.

Let’s call it a day, she said, and wiped her face with her towel. There were only eight Special Agent trainees in this particular group. As they filed across the mats and towards the showers, Luna stepped over to the desk to answer her phone. She thought it was probably Walter calling, wanting her to stop and buy something at the store on her way home.

But when she picked the phone up in her sweaty hand and glanced at the display, there was no caller ID, only a phone number.

It started with +33. That was the country code for France.

Elaine! Luna thought happily. What a pleasant surprise—they hadn’t spoken in over a month.

She pushed the green button and said, Hey, baby-doll, grinning.

Her greeting was met with silence. Luna could hear noise in the background—was it traffic?

Hello? she said uneasily, hoping it wasn’t someone else, from one of the Secret Service offices in France.

Is this-a Luna? a male voice asked guardedly.

She recognized the Italian accent immediately. Tony...?

"Si," he said, sounding relieved.

Is something wrong?

"Si, signora. I’m very worried about Elaine and Mister Nick. I think they maybe are-a missing." He spoke very fast, seeming breathless.

Luna glanced at the door that led to the showers to make sure none of the students had come back in. What do you mean, ‘missing’? She heard the honk of a car horn in the background. Where are you?

At a pay phone in the village, he whispered. "Mr. Nick and Signora, they got called up to Paris about ten days ago and then just-a disappeared. Poof-a! No phone calls, no nothing. He paused. It’s not like-a them not to call and talk-a to the bambini. I call her office in Marseille and they say she ‘on assignment.’ Nothing more-a."

Who called them up to Paris?

Tony lowered his voice. "Signor Malik."

Raj Malik?

"Si. Elaine tell me they only gonna be away for one day."

Luna did not like the sound of this. Her first thought was that Giorgio Cattoretti had somehow gotten his hands on them.

Tony said, "Signora, are you there-a?"

Yeah, I’m thinking. Luna glanced at her watch. Can you call me back tomorrow at exactly the same time, from a pay phone?

"Si, Signora."

Good. I’ll check into this and see what I can find out. Luna hesitated, and then added, Don’t worry. There’s probably some logical explanation. Maybe they’re on an undercover assignment and just haven’t had the opportunity to call home.

"I hope-a so. Grazie, Signora. He sounded grateful. Ciao."

Luna spent a few minutes in her office, thinking it over, and then decided to call the Marseille consulate herself and enquire about Elaine’s whereabouts. She waited until she was in her car, on the way home, and made the call from the parking lot at the supermarket where she usually shopped, but she used her company phone.

This is Luna Faye, she told the male operator who answered, who was probably a consulate security guard. May I speak with Elaine Brogan?

Just a moment.

The call was routed to an administrative assistant who asked Luna for her Secret Service ID. She could hear the woman typing it into a computer to verify it. She then called Luna back to verify the cell number and said, Hold on. Elevator music played for about thirty seconds and then the woman came back on the line.

Elaine is on assignment at the moment.

Oh. Luna had already prepared a lie. I was just trying to get in touch with her to find out her post code—I’m sending some presents for her kids, and—

We can’t give that information out over the phone.

Yes, I understand, but do you know when Elaine will be back?

That’s classified.

After Luna cut the call, she sat there in the car for a moment, debating about trying to contact Raj at the Secret Service field office in Lyon, but decided against it. During the past few minutes she had wondered if Raj had found out, somehow, that they had actually let Cattoretti go. If Elaine and Nick were in trouble for that, Raj certainly wouldn’t tell her about it, and it would be stupid to tip her hand and let him know that she knew something was wrong. She didn’t like the man. The fact that he hired mercenaries to track down Cattoretti, and had intended to bypass international extradition laws and fly the Italian criminal to a CIA black site, did not sit well with her.

Luna decided to talk to Walter about the problem over dinner.

Well, he said, cutting into his steak, you just have to go over there and get to the bottom of it.

Where? To France, you mean?

Why not? You have plenty of vacation time built up. Just concoct an excuse to take a few days off. You don’t have to tell anybody where you’re going.

It’s not about the time away, Walter.

He saw the look on her face. Oh. You mean flying.

Yeah, flying, Luna muttered. Even saying the word was distasteful. If anything, her flying phobia was worse than ever now, after being whisked over to France on that crazy experimental, hypersonic Air Force contraption. That had scared her half to death.

Walter studied her face. She’s your friend, sweetheart. Are you going to let your phobia get in the way of doing the right thing?

7

Two days later, Luna was strapped into one of the tiny economy class seats of a jumbo jet heading to Paris. Already sweating, her knuckles were white and the plane had not even finished boarding.

Ladies and gentlemen, we request your full attention while the flight attendants demonstrate the safety features of this aircraft...

Luna looked out the window, trying to blot out the canned monologue—all that emergency procedure chatter only added to her anxiety. She had spent the last forty-eight hours immersed in her inner turmoil, trying to decide what to do. Ever since she had returned from her assignment to help Elaine in France, her spirits had been down. Working with Elaine on the Cattoretti operation had made her realize how much she missed being in the action, in the thick of things. The prospect of continuing to work at the Secret Service Training Academy in Laurel as a martial arts instructor for the remainder of her career was not only uninspiring, but made her feel downright cowardly. Not that training Special Agents wasn’t rewarding work. Knowing that she was developing skills in them that could not only save their own lives, but the lives of dignitaries and heads of state, even the President of the United States, gave her a great sense of pride and satisfaction. And every once in a while a special student came along, like Elaine, one with whom she developed a close bond and who became a true friend.

But, deep down, Luna felt a little bit like a second string athlete, someone who sat on the sidelines most of the time and just watched everyone else play the game. A humorous quote by one of her college professors kept coming back to her now. Those who can, do. Those who can’t, teach.

Walter’s little push had helped her make the decision. When Tony had called her back the day before, she told him to telephone her from the farmhouse landline on her official Secret Service line and ask her if she could come and stay with Elaine’s children for a week or so. She told him to fabricate an excuse about one of his close relatives being ill and having to make an emergency trip to Rome. Luna had reached the stage in her career where she was no longer concerned with breaking rules—her own happiness and mental well being were more important. She had gone through the formal channels to check on Elaine and had come up against a brick wall. Elaine was not just another Special Agent, but her close friend, and she considered Nick LaGrange a friend now, too. She had the right to know if the two of them were in trouble.

Tony had handled the contrived phone call beautifully, and expressed his appreciation when she agreed to come to France, which made Luna cringe a little, knowing they were talking on her official Secret Service line. "Oh, grazie, Signora! I will never call you a lesbian again!"

Now the plane’s engines had whirred to life and the jet was beginning to roll down the taxiway. Luna checked her seat belt for the third time and wiped the perspiration from her forehead.

Nervous? an elderly woman sitting next to her said. She looked at Luna sympathetically.

A little, Luna admitted.

Don’t you worry, dear, she said, patting Luna’s hand. "These jets are very safe now. Did you know they can take off and land themselves these days without the pilots lifting a finger?"

Is that so? This did not make Luna feel any better.

Yes, it’s all done with computers. Saw it on a TV documentary.

8

Forty-four Years Earlier

---

Humboldt County, California

The night Luna Faye was born, the moon was a fiery red, and the shaman refused to perform the birth rites.

After taking one look at the newborn baby’s face, the wrinkled old woman said, That child is the devil’s spawn. She motioned to the crimson moon rising over the horizon, her bracelets clinking. Only an evil child would be born on such a night. Any person who gets close to her will die.

You don’t know what you’re talking about, Onida Faye snapped, rolling away, holding the baby protectively in her arms. She was drenched in sweat, trembling, lying in a pile of leaves on the ground. The huge baby was still wet with afterbirth. There’s nothing the matter with my little girl!

Onida knew that the reason the stupid old woman didn’t like her baby had nothing to do with the moon—the child’s father was black, a drifter-hippie from Fresno who had smooth-talked Onida into bed. He left before he knew she was pregnant.

Glaring at her, the Shaman said, You have been officially banished from the reservation. The revered old