5

“Operation Gemini commences in two weeks,” announced Colonel Black. “I trust you’ve all done your homework.”

The colonel stood, arms behind his back, at the front of Alpha team’s briefing room. His broad shoulders, chiseled jaw and silver-gray crew cut were highlighted by the glow of the projector screen. As founder and commander of the Guardian organization, the ex-SAS soldier took a personal interest in every assignment and made certain he attended every operational briefing. On the screen behind him, spinning in 3-D, was Guardian’s official logo: a silver winged shield.

Connor swiped a finger across his new tablet computer and prepared to take notes. The next few hours would be an onslaught of information from each Alpha team member about different aspects of the operation: Principal profile, location intel, threat assessments, security requirements, “action-on” procedures, role assignment and logistical support, to name but a few. Each element was crucial to the success of the mission, and all team members were required to have a working knowledge in case of role swaps or last-minute replacements.

Colonel Black stepped aside to allow Charley to the front. As Alpha team’s operations leader and most experienced guardian, she always led the briefing.

“On this assignment, there are two Principals needing our protection,” she explained, clicking the projector’s handheld remote. A photograph of two young girls, virtually identical, flashed up on the screen. “These are the twin daughters of Mr. Maddox Sterling, the Australian media mogul and billionaire.”

“They look like the Valley Sisters,” cracked Richie with an approving grin, referring to the famous teenage TV pop duo.

“I bet you have all of their albums!” teased Ling.

“No! Of course not. I have musical taste . . . unlike you. I mean, Black Sabbath. Talk about morbid.”

Ling narrowed her eyes at him. “You haven’t lived until you’ve listened to Paranoid.”

Tuning out his teammates’ bickering, Connor carefully studied the photograph. The young twins had matching straw-blond hair, sea-green eyes and well-defined cheekbones. They could very easily pass as pop stars—and equally as each other. It would be hard to tell them apart.

Pointing to the girl on the right, Charley continued with the Principal profile. “Chloe is the eldest by twelve minutes. She’s outgoing, sociable and intelligent, though word has it, she can be a bit of a princess.” Charley shrugged as if to imply that that came with being the daughter of a billionaire. “Emily, on the other hand, is quieter and more introverted. She enjoys reading, nature and walking, in contrast to Chloe’s love of volleyball and sunbathing. But that isn’t surprising. Last year she was the victim of a kidnapping.”

“Sounds like they hired us too late,” quipped Amir, looking around at the others to join in his joke.

However, a stern glance from the colonel’s flint-gray eyes swiftly ended Amir’s attempt at humor. “Tragically, that’s often the case. Hindsight brings wisdom.”

On the screen, Charley flicked to a composite image of various newspaper clippings. Bullet points in front of the headlines traced the distressing progress of the kidnapping: STERLING GIRL MISSING . . . HAVE YOU SEEN EMILY? . . . MEDIA MOGUL’S MULTIMILLION-DOLLAR RANSOM DEMAND . . . HOSTAGE GIRL NEGOTIATIONS STALL . . . IS EMILY DEAD? . . . STERLING SISTER RELEASED.

“Emily was snatched while on a family vacation in the Côte d’Azur,” Charley explained. “The Corsican Mafia was the suspected organization behind the kidnapping, although that wasn’t proved. She was held in the Algerian desert for several months before eventually being released after lengthy negotiations over the ransom payment.”

Ling held up a hand to ask a question. “If the father’s so wealthy, what took so long?”

Colonel Black replied, “Ransom negotiations are rarely straightforward. There’s a great deal of bluff and counterbluff, rejected offers and impossible demands. The most important thing is that the hostage was released, unharmed.”

“So, how’s Emily doing now?” asked Connor.

“Surprisingly well,” Charley revealed, pulling a medical report from her file. “Physically she is fit and healthy, with no lasting aftereffects. Her psychological report from her therapist, though, indicates occasional mood swings, withdrawal and a fear of the dark and confined spaces. Emily’s been prescribed medication to help her cope with the anxiety attacks—but it can have side effects of drowsiness, confusion and impaired thinking. However, that’s all to be expected, considering her ordeal. Alpha team’s task is to ensure that such a tragedy doesn’t happen again.”

Clicking her remote, Charley pulled up a map of the Indian Ocean. “We will provide low-profile protection for the Sterling sisters during their upcoming vacation in the Seychelles and the Maldives.” She indicated the two tiny clusters of tropical islands amid the vast blue swath of ocean separating Africa and India. “The operation will last a month and be based on Mr. Sterling’s yacht.”

A sleek one-hundred-and-fifty-foot multidecked super-yacht filled the display.

“Wow!” exclaimed Amir, his coffee-brown eyes widening in amazement. “That’s some boat.”

“That’s no boat; it’s a floating palace,” Marc corrected as he squinted at the yacht’s top deck. “It’s even got a hot tub.”

Jason shot Connor an envious glance. “You’ve landed a cushy assignment,” he said. “Must be your reward for saving the president’s daughter.”

“You think so?” replied Connor, recalling the difficulties he’d faced protecting just one Principal. “I figure twins mean twice the trouble.”