Page 3 of France Face-Off
Lucie
Before he’d gone down to the reception, he’d spent time reading up on the web about the reception, the attendees and the political issues they were facing.
The reception was the beginning of a two-day energy summit. The biggest issue up for debate would be the natural gas pipeline scheduled for expansion from Russia to Germany. Striker had studied the players involved, from Sergei Baranovsky, the Russian diplomat heavily involved in the negotiations for the pipeline, to the German Federal Minister of Economics and Energy, Hans Sutter. Japan’s representative was a small man with salt-and-pepper hair, Hikosaburo Kono. Other representatives hailed from the United Kingdom, France, Italy and the European Union. The one person who had him most intrigued was the man who’d replaced the assassinated leader of Russian Internal Affairs.
The man Striker had terminated while still a SEAL.
His replacement, Anatoly Petrov, had a reputation as an aggressive negotiator and a ladies’ man. He liked women, and he liked getting his way, even if it meant turning his back and walking away from the table.
Striker wasn’t sure what he had to do with the Energy Summit, and he wasn’t sure how he was supposed to receive his next instructions unless the instructions had only been to wear the tuxedo and show up at the reception.
Surely, that wasn’t all of it.
Lucie seemed interested in his skills as a Navy SEAL.
Navy SEALs weren’t normally dressed in tuxedos, attending diplomatic receptions with leaders of foreign countries. When he’d taken out the Russian in charge of Internal Affairs, he’d done it from the top of a building over a hundred yards away. He’d had his rifle packed up and moved out of the building before anyone really knew what had happened. He’d never been this close to a bunch of politicians, and he sure as hell didn’t fit in.
Along with the tuxedo and the shoes, he wore the earbuds Lucie had given him in his first packet of information back in the States. He carried the burner phone in his pocket and awaited some clue as to what he was supposed to do at the reception.
He stood near the entrance, having arrived early to watch as the guests entered. Based on the pictures from the internet, he’d picked out Hans Sutter, the German, the Russians Sergei Baranovsky and Anatoly Petrov, the Japanese representative, and Lorenzo Ricci, the Italian. Richard Wedington, the United Kingdom representative, had yet to put in an appearance.
Movement at the door caught his attention. The UK representative and his wife stepped through the entrance, showed their invitations to the security guard manning the door and crossed the room to the bar where they ordered glasses of wine.
A raven-haired woman entered next, wearing a long silver gown that clung to her curves and rippled like mercury with every step she took. She smiled and handed the security guard her invitation. He frowned down at it for a moment and then glanced up with narrowed eyes. She laughed and smiled more broadly, pointed at the invitation and said something Striker couldn’t quite hear from where he stood. The security guard tapped his ear and spoke into his microphone. A moment later, he gave the woman a nod, and she entered the reception hall.
“Striker, can you hear me?” a voice said in his ears, startling him.
He hadn’t realized how focused he was on the woman who’d just walked in until Lucie’s voice sounded in his ear. The comm device was a two-way radio, which meant Lucie had to be there in France and was close enough for the signals to come through.
“Roger,” he said.
“Are you ready for your mission?”
Irritation flared. “Depends on what the mission is,” he said. “Although the use of my combat training seems irrelevant in this monkey suit.”
Her chuckle filled his ear. “It all will become clear momentarily,” she said. “And by the way, you look stunning in that tuxedo.”
Striker glanced around the reception hall, searching for a female, possibly standing alone, who was talking to no one in particular. There were several women who had accompanied their husbands to the event. Most of them were older, and all of them seemed to be occupied with other people, except for the one in the silver dress. She stopped to snag a glass of champagne from one of the waiters circulating through the room, smiling to thank him.
“Your mission tonight…” Lucie said into his ear.
The woman in the silver dress turned at the same time, her mouth still forming a smile across her lips.
“—is to keep an assassination from happening,” Lucie concluded.
No, the woman in the silver dress did not move her lips. The elusive Lucie couldn’t be her. Somewhat disappointed, Striker looked around the room. “Whose assassination am I supposed to stop? And by the way, I recognize the irony.”
“Good. I know you did your homework on this event,” Lucie stated. “If you’ve been following the energy struggles between Russia and Germany, you know how important this summit could be. I received intel indicating an assassination attempt will be made on one or both of the Russian diplomats. An agreement must be reached at this summit, or the energy needs of Europe could be at risk. Climatologists indicate the coming winter could be one of the harshest in decades. Without the additional capacity the new pipeline could produce, and with the growing population in Europe, it could spell disaster if an accord is not reached.”
“Any idea who the assassin might be?”
“Therein lies the problem. My intelligence reports it’s the same assassin who has eliminated four of the five diplomats with connections to the Russian mafia. No one has seen the assassin to know who he is. I know that’s not much to go on,” she said. “The targets are the Russians. Have you located Sergei Baranovsky and Anatoly Petrov?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he responded. “This summit concludes in two days. Do either of the Russians know that I’ll be looking out for them?”
“No, and they are not to know. We hope that in the process of protecting these two men, you might reveal the identity of the assassin.”
“And my cover for this operation?” he asked.
