Forever Notorious Page 2

  “Abigail Mueez,” her training commander snapped, “the director will see you now.”

  Abby took a slow breath as she got up from her chair and followed her training commander down the cement hallway. They entered a small room where Lewis was sifting looking through a file—a large file with her name on the tab.

  “Have a seat, Abby,” Lewis said without looking up. He flipped to the beginning of the file and began her history. “You are the daughter of Ahmed and Bridget Mueez,” he began as he worked his way through her history. “Upon successful Rahmi Special Forces training, you graduated top in your class from The Farm and further successfully completed all training at CIA private training centers. You were unable to train with US military forces due to the secrecy of a woman possibly joining our ranks.”

  Abby nodded as she kept her hands folded in her lap. Lewis continued. “You excelled at hand-to-hand combat, need to work on long distance sniper shots, scored highly in mid-range shots, and were particularly skilled at interrogation and torture. Not surprising considering who your father is. What is surprising was how you handled such interrogations and torture being turned against you. It was impressive,” Lewis said, finally looking up from the file. “There are two hundred nineteen men in SOG. Only Tom was accepted from this training group.”

  Abby felt her breathing stop. She didn’t make it. Well, she was glad for Tom. He was a good man with talent and would save many lives.

  “Two hundred nineteen men and one woman.”

  Abby’s eyes refocused on Lewis’s slightly wrinkled face. “Excuse me?”

  “You exceeded even my expectations. You truly were born for this. You and Tom are to report to DC in two weeks.” Lewis pulled a thick legal envelope out and tossed it on the desk. Abby reached over and opened it. Inside was a thick packet of information on her new life, including both real and fake identifications. Her cover was working for a security company as a security expert. There was paperwork on the company, her employment contract, and other info about her cover job. As she flipped through the information, she also noted that her fake office was located three blocks from command headquarters.

  “DC?” Abby asked in confusion. She thought for sure she’d be placed overseas.

  “You and Tom will join Omega team in DC. Most new recruits start there and work their way up to the higher-level teams. Don’t worry, Abby. If you’re half as good in the field as I think you will be, you’ll be on Alpha team in a matter of a few short years.”

  Lewis stood up and Abby followed suit. He reached across his desk and held out his hand. “Welcome to the CIA.”

  1

  Present Day, Washington, DC . . .

  * * *

  Politics suck. Abby fumed as she read that her latest request to join Alpha team had been denied. The news of a woman in SOG flew though the National Security Council and the members of SOG faster than the Keeneston grapevine. And it was the National Security Council that was pulling rank and preventing Abby’s rise to the Alpha team.

  Her secure phone rang and Abby turned off the encrypted email and answered. “What?”

  “Hold for President Stratton.”

  Oh, she was going to hold for him and then she’d rip him a new one. Boss and commander-in-chief be damned. Abby had spent the past five years clawing her way up to the Beta team. She had never failed in a mission, and as the leader of her small Beta team, she’d never lost a man.

  “Abby.”

  “Birch.”

  The president chuckled at her informality. Abby didn’t cower to anyone. It could have to do with growing up around their friends who were royalty, yet didn’t act like it. From a young age, she’d been around kings, queens, princes, and presidents. A person was a person to her, regardless of what they did for a living or who happened to be in their family. “I guess you saw Lewis was pressured to keep you off Alpha team. The thing is, two of the members refused to work with you. You know how important teamwork and trust is, which is why I didn’t overrule them. You have a good team, Abby.”

  Damn. She knew she had a good team. She also knew she could do more. “I know,” she sighed.

  “And I also know you’re one of the best SOG operators we have, regardless of what team you’re on. That’s why I need you for a solo mission.”

  “Solo?” Only Alpha team members got solo missions. “What is it?”

  “Have you ever heard of Warren and Gloria Pottinger?” the president asked.

  “Sure, they’re living off his great-grandfather’s fortune and hold themselves out as humanitarians when they’re really just socialites.”

  “And their son?”

  “Chet Pottinger. Douchebag extraordinaire. I think I heard my friend Sydney Davies McKnight, the clothing designer, say he tried to make it as a model, but she wouldn’t hire him because he was constantly on drugs.”

  “Was being the operative word. He was arrested for DUI and sent to jail. He found a higher calling while in jail.”

  “Amazing how that happens,” Abby said with a roll of her eyes. “Who radicalized him?”

  “Himself.”

  “What?” she asked, confused.

  “He didn’t find religion. He became a religion. He’s preaching that he’s been called by God to save the planet through humanitarian work. He got out of jail six months ago and is making a splash in the papers about buying a house in southern Costa Rica near the border with Panama and filling it with followers who want to save the world. He is calling himself Earth’s Savior.”

  “He’s not in the US so, what’s the big deal?”

  “The big deal is intel from Costa Rica is showing various arms dealers and terrorists coming and going while mixing with the who’s who of the gossip sheets. That’s a lot of money and a lot of bad guys in the same building at the same time. I want to know what’s going on in there.”

  “When do I leave to take Chet out?” Abby asked.

  “Tonight. But you’re not taking him out . . . at least not initially. I’m sending info on your cover. A bank account has been set up for you. I’ve talked to King Draven and he’s set up everything on his end to have you look like a distant royal from his country of Bermalia.”

  “Please tell me I don’t have to report to Draven,” Abby groaned. Draven was slowly maturing as the king of his small country near Rahmi, but he still enjoyed his sports cars and women too much for Abby to take him seriously. That and he had a tendency to think very highly of his royal member. She had vowed to remove it the next time he showed it off. A sharp knife and a flick of her wrist was all it would take.

  “No, but I will keep him in the loop. Some of the people seen on the property have a grudge against him, including close friends of his cousin, who is next in line for the crown. He’s worried for his country as well.”

  Well, that was promising. Maybe the reports from her friends, Zain and Gabe Ali Rahman, who were part of the royal family of nearby Rahmi, were true. King Draven might have actually grown up. “I’ll report back as soon as I have something.”

  “No, you’ll report back to me at the White House in three days. That’s how long you have,” Birch told her. “There’s a recruiting party in two days. You’ll be spotted on the beach of the richest hotel and you need to get yourself invited. Stay for a short time, and then tell him you’re heading for the States. See if there’s anything you can do here for him. The first objective is a peek inside. The second is to eliminate Chet if he’s verified as a threat.”

  “Got it.”

  “Be safe. I don’t want to tell you father or mother anything has happened to you.”

  “I’m always safe.” Abby hung up as the president laughed. She might be safe, but she also loved to cross the line.

  * * *

  Abby grabbed her go bag and double checked it. It was loaded with clothing, weapons, and surveillance equipment. She was adding in her friend Piper Davies Creed’s newest lightweight bulletproof jacket when there was a knock on the door. Abby made it t
o the front of her small DC apartment in seconds. The apartment was a one bedroom and one bath, with a small open kitchen and living room. It was calming in light blues, creams, and tans, but it didn’t hide the fact that it was barely six hundred square feet.

  Abby looked at the tablet mounted on the wall next to the door that showed a live video feed of the hallway. There stood a short man in his fifties, head shaved to hide his male pattern baldness, waving at her. As she watched, he shoved his round, black wire-rimmed glasses back up his nose.

  “Hello, Humphrey,” Abby said with a smile as she opened her door for Humphrey Orville, the president’s chief of staff.

  “How are you doing, Abby? Did that sweet woman send you another apple pie?” Humphrey didn’t even try to hide the reason he’d volunteered to bring over Abby’s cover.

  Marcy Davies, the matriarch of the large Davies family back home in Keeneston, always sent an apple pie every month to all of the friends and family living away from home. Since Marcy’s children were like aunts and uncles to her, and Marcy’s grandkids were her best friends, Abby was lucky enough to be on that apple pie list.

  “It arrived yesterday, and since I’ll be gone, it’ll need a new home,” Abby said as she pulled out two plates and a knife. “So, why is Birch so worried about this one spoiled brat?”

  “Because this kid can get his hands on a lot of money. His parents have a long reach with the blue bloods. What’s worse is that he’s incredibly charismatic. Mix a charismatic leader with a few trusted followers, lots of blind members, and a lot of money and what do you get?” Humphrey asked.

  “You get the pyramid basis for every cult and terrorist group out there.”

  Humphrey bobbed his head as Abby put a slice of pie on his plate. “Exactly, now we need you to determine if he’s scheming to be a cult leader who is interested in being worshipped by his members or if he’s heading a terror organization and manipulating his followers to do his criminal bidding.” Humphrey pushed a packet across the white granite kitchen bar toward her.

  Abby grabbed the packet. “Why not send in a spy? This doesn’t seem particularly dangerous.” She pulled out a bottle of red hair dye, green contact lenses, a new passport, first-class plane ticket, and a dossier containing details about her fake past and current life. That was reading material for the plane. “Red?”

  “You don’t strike me as a blonde,” Humphrey mumbled with a mouthful of apple pie. That was probably true. She’d inherited her father’s dark brown, almost black, hair, yet she’d inherited her mother’s bright Caribbean blue eyes. “And President Stratton wanted you in case there was a hostage situation inside the compound. As the president said, the first objective is information. But a second is to eliminate the threat and rescue hostages if you believe there is imminent danger.”

  “You got it,” Abby said, putting her dirty dish into the dishwasher and wrapping the pie in foil. “Here you go,” she said, pushing the pie tin toward Humphrey. “Remember this the next time Alpha team tries to give me a shitty assignment.”

  “For pie, I’ll give them all the bad ones,” Humphrey said as he winked and clutched the pie as if it were the go codes for the nuclear missiles.

  Abby grinned as she led him to her apartment door. Humphrey might look like a goober—all bow ties and glasses—but she had a feeling there was a lot more than met the eye with him, just as there was with her. Maybe that’s why they got along so well. That, and ever since she supplied him with Marcy’s pies, Beta team had been getting better assignments.

  Abby locked the door after Humphrey and looked at the box of hair dye. “I’m feeling feisty. Come on, Red,” she said to herself as she headed for her bathroom.

  2

  Costa Rica . . .

  * * *

  Abby snapped her fingers and a male waiter hurried to her exclusive cabana. “Something frozen. And expensive.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said with a bow of his head before he hurried off.

  Abby slid from the queen-sized, overstuffed beach bed and slowly stretched, making sure her breasts pushed against the hunter green ruffled bikini from the hottest designer out there. The bikini had cost close to a thousand dollars at the resort shop. But damned if Abby didn’t feel feminine and pretty. Which was something she wasn’t used to in her line of work. The ruffled, off-the-shoulder bikini showed off her smooth, muscled body while appearing soft, sexy, and flirty as the ruffles gently fluttered in the ocean breeze.

  Abby had seen two men and two women who looked to be scouts walking down the beach. They eyed the people on the beach as if evaluating their net worth and only approached those in their twenties who appeared to have a lot of disposable income.

  As Abby surveyed the beach, her waiter hurried past the group with her drink. The young man with the spiked hair that somehow wasn’t moving in the strong ocean breeze stopped her waiter. Abby kept her eyes in front of her as she slowly made her way to the water. From the corner of her peripheral vision, she saw them looking at her. They were making inquiries and what they’d find out was that she was a countess from Bermalia who had just flown in for a three-day weekend and was staying alone in the penthouse.

  Abby let the water tickle her toes as she closed her eyes and tilted her head toward the sun. She let the sun warm her body as she counted down—thirteen, twelve, eleven, ten . . .

  “Here you go ma’am,” the waiter said softly as to not surprise her.

  Abby didn’t bother opening her eyes as she just held out her hand. The drink was placed in it and she continued her mental countdown as the waiter hurried off. Five, four, three, two, one . . .

  “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

  Abby opened her eyes and turned her head slowly to the male voice to her left. “Yes,” she said, letting a Middle Eastern accent slip into her English. Only the sexy one had approached her. The women and the other man were still prowling the beach.

  “I’m Bing Denison.”

  “You’re named after the sound of an incoming text message?” Abby asked with her nose up in the air. Bing smiled and Abby got an eyeful of the best teeth money could buy. “It’s short for Bingham. My father is a film director. I’m sure you’ve heard of him.” Abby made a noncommittal sound and slid on a pair of sunglasses. Of course she knew his father, but that was exactly what Bing was counting on. “And you are?”

  “Abigail, Countess of Tila,” Abby said, not holding out her hand as she kept her eyes on the waves.

  “Wow, a countess. How long are you here?”

  “Just a couple of days. I had my jet stop here for a brief stay on my way to the United States.”

  “Only a couple of days? Too bad.”

  “I know, but I promised to spend Christmas with my family in the States. I love the ocean. It feeds my soul. I’ll take whatever I can get to recharge.” Abby thought it sounded dramatic, but Bing nodded as if he understood.

  “Me too,” he said, putting his hand to his heart. “It’s like I can feel the waves in my soul.”

  Abby turned toward Bing as she lowered her sunglasses. A smile slowly curved her red lips upward. “Exactly. It’s nice to meet someone who understands.”

  “Actually, there are a lot of us here who do. You should come with me to a party tonight. I belong to a charity here that provides oceanic relief.”

  “Relief?” Abby asked, not having to tamper her curiosity.

  “Yes. Chet Pottinger, the TV star.” Bing looked for recognition as Abby let her eyes go wide.

  “No way. I just binged his show on the jet.”

  Bing smiled and nodded his perfect head. “Well, he has a house just down the beach. He’s hosting a charity event tomorrow night for his group, Relief for the Earth Fund. He gives out grants that provide everything from children’s relief, to the oceanic relief, to relief for wildlife.”

  “I had no idea. That’s very noble. I always try to support the ocean. It’s the heartbeat of the world.”

  “Cool. Airdrop me your contact an
d I’ll text you the invite. It’s very exclusive, but everyone there is passionate about providing relief to those in need.” Abby sent him her cell phone number and a second later the invite appeared on her phone. “Show this to the man at the gate and it’ll get you in.”

  “I’ll see you then,” Abby said, pushing her glasses back up her nose and effectively dismissing him. She snapped her fingers and pointed to the water. Her personal waiter came running with a large swan float. Abby thanked him, pulled a hundred from her swim top, and handed it to him before getting into the water. It might look as if she were sunbathing, but she kept her eyes on the four members of the Relief for the Earth Fund as they selectively invited people to the charity event. As they disappeared from sight, Abby finally closed her eyes and relaxed. She’d gotten her invite and now it was time to plan her mission.

  Abby’s bright pink sequined mini-dress sparkled in the lights surrounding Chet’s mansion. The dress was made up of a strip of fabric that stopped right below her ass and a couple of strings to hold it up. While most of her body was on display, she’d used athletic tape to strap several weapons to her body in strategic locations. If she wasn’t armed with at least three weapons, she felt more naked than she did in the skimpy dress.

  “Countess!”

  Abby looked up from where she was walking around a pool filled with people sipping champagne to see Bing walking toward her with a big grin on his face. “You came.”

  “You did say this was to help the ocean. I’m very passionate and will do anything to help save the ocean and the animals in it.”