* * *
WHEN SHIRAZI REGAINED consciousness, he was lying on a couch, his hands and feet freed. He reached for his neck, which felt like it was burning. As he touched it, he felt a sticky liquid and a slight indentation. Upon inspected his finger, he noticed blood.
Shirazi sat up and found a couple men watching him closely.
“What happened to my neck?” he asked.
“Standard protocol for release,” one of the men answered.
“Are either of you going to tell me where I am and what’s going on?” Shirazi demanded.
“You’re in Washington and you’re about to be granted your unconditional pardon and release,” one of the men answered.
“And that’s why I have this cut in my neck? It feels like it’s on fire.”
“It’ll go away.”
“Is this a tracker?” Shirazi asked. “Because you know I’m just going to rip it out as soon as I get out of here.”
“You do whatever you like with it,” one of the men said. “Keep it as a souvenir if you want. But like I said, standard protocol. Just leave it in until the exchange is completed.”
“Exchange? Wait. What?”
The other guard nodded and glanced at his watch. “It’s time.”
“Time for what?” Shirazi asked. “What are you talking about?”
“Stand up and put these cuffs back on,” the agent said. “We’re going to your swap.”
“Swap? Who are you trading me for?”
The agent shook his head. “Does it matter?”
“At least tell me who handled my release? Was it my government?” Shirazi asked.
“Your government?” the agent asked with a chuckle. “They disavowed any knowledge of your existence. No, it was someone else with more power than your government.”
“Then who is it?”
Neither of the men said anything until Shirazi was in the SUV.
“You’re just going to refuse to answer me like that?” he asked.
“Surprises are so much more fun,” one of the guards said.
“If you’re about to toss me out on the street in exchange for someone, the least you can do is tell me who asked for me.”
One of the guards shrugged and nodded knowingly at his companion. “Fine, we’ll tell you if you really must ruin the surprise.”
“Yes, ruin it. And ruin it right now.”
“You’re a lucky man, Mr. Shirazi,” one agent said. “Your fiancée was the one who brokered your release. You’re part of an exchange orchestrated by none other than Evana Bahar.”
Shirazi’s eyes widened. “No, no, no. Turn this car around. Take me back to Cuba.”
The two men stared at each other, bewildered by his response. “Maybe you didn’t hear us,” one guard said. “It’s your fiancée who made this happen.”
“Ex-fiancée,” Shirazi said. “And if it was all the same to you, I’d rather just rot to death in that Cuban prison.”
“Sorry, pal. No can do. Your lover kidnapped the president’s daughter, so you’re getting handed over to that woman.”
“She’s going to kill me,” Shirazi said. “Please, no. Just turn the car around. I don’t care if you keep me in that prison. I’ll say nice things about the American government. Whatever you want me to do. Just don’t make me go with her.”
The guard shrugged. “I get it, man. When I was in college, I had a crazy ex who acted like she wanted to get back together right before finals and dropped off a plate of cookies. I thought she had a change of heart. But, no, she just laced every one of those damn things with laxatives. The next morning, I couldn’t sit in the classroom five minutes without having to run out to the bathroom.”
“That sounds sane compared to what Evana will do to me. She’ll probably roast me on a spit in the desert. And I’ll still be alive when she does it."
“Some women are legit psycho,” the other agent said. “But you probably should’ve considered that before you,” he paused before raising his voice for emphasis, “proposed to a terrorist.”
Shirazi didn’t move when the car finally came to a stop. “I’m not getting out.”
“We’ll see about that.”
He stared out across the quiet street. The clock in the front of the car read 10:50 p.m.
“We’re early,” the driver said.
“Now what?” Shirazi asked.
“We wait.”
CHAPTER 26
Washington, D.C.
PRESIDENT YOUNG PACED around the impromptu situation room as the body cams of the agents came online. One by one, the black ops team checked in with the leader. Young glanced at Brady Hawk, who sat at a desk wearing headphones as the men spread out around the area.
“Don’t you think she’s already there?” Young asked. “She’s probably been planning this thing for months, if not years.”
Dave Southorn, the FBI’s Special Agent-in-Charge for the Washington office, directed the team from the apartment the agency commandeered. He nodded knowingly at Hawk.
“Why couldn’t we do this from the White House again?” Young asked.
Hawk walked over to the president, throwing an arm around his shoulder. "Look, you're nervous. I get it. We've gone through the wringer a few times before, haven't we?"
“A few more than I’d like.”
“And what happened every time?” Hawk asked, not waiting for an answer before continuing. “We came out alive.”
“But this is my Olivia we’re talking about. I can’t lose her.”
“I understand. And we’re going to do our best to make sure she comes back in one piece. But we need you to stay as calm as possible. You’ve got a team of high-level professionals who’ve been trained for scenarios just like this one.”
“Just like this one?”
“A member of the First Family gets taken, yes,” Hawk said. “It’s part of standard training at Quantico.”
“You wouldn’t be blowing smoke up my ass, would you?”
“Of course not, sir. You’re going to get the straight truth from me. And what you need to know is that everyone here and on the ground is going to do the best job possible to get Olivia back without
