Laynie Portland, Retired Spy

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Laynie Portland, Retired Spy Page 39

by Vikki Kestell


  Laynie stared at the grass under her feet. Once again, what little choice she had over her life was really no choice at all. She gathered her wits about her, and strength returned to her legs. She pulled away from Tobin.

  “I need to . . . my sister is here. She knows . . . a little, just that I’ve been undercover for a long time, nothing more. Not where or with whom. I want to see her. Talk to her. And my parents. They are both getting on in years, and my mother is ill. I want to see my family—my parents, my sister, her children. Those are my terms—and you owe me, you know.”

  Wolfe considered her request. “I suppose we do. Where do they live?”

  “Not far. At my sister’s farm, here in Nebraska.”

  “After which, you will accept my offer?”

  Laynie nodded. “I suppose I will.”

  “This time only. We’ll establish a secure communication line between you and them later, but no further visits for a while, not until they can be arranged securely.”

  “I understand.”

  He pulled a two-way radio from his coat pocket and keyed the mic. “Bring the woman. Just the woman.”

  Laynie watched as the agent opened the Suburban door and signaled Kari. She stepped from the car, confused. Laynie saw Max’s worried face pressed against the glass. Heard a man’s voice shouting in angry protest as Kari, with no word of explanation, was escorted away.

  Laynie saw, through the twilight, the moment Kari spotted her. Kari shook off the agent’s restrictive grasp and ran toward her sister.

  “Laynie! Laynie!”

  Laynie ran, too, and they collided, their arms pulling the other close. Tighter. Laynie’s heart was near to bursting.

  “Kari!”

  “I’m here, Laynie. I’m here. Thank you, Jesus! Thank you for answering my prayers.”

  “Kari,” Laynie sobbed. “I thought I would never see you again. I almost gave up hope so many times.”

  “Oh, Laynie, I almost did, too, but the Lord wouldn’t let me give up. Our God truly is the God of miracles! Is anything impossible with him?”

  Laynie laughed through her tears. “No, Kari. I . . . I guess I am beginning to see your point of view.”

  Kari put her mouth to Laynie’s ear and whispered, “Are you safe now, Laynie? Will they let you come home with us?”

  Laynie sighed. She began to draw back, shaking her head. “Evidently, I am the proverbial ‘magnet for trouble’ and trouble isn’t ready to give up its hunt for me.”

  Pointing with her chin, she murmured, “That man over there is from my organization. He will let me go home with you for a short visit, just to see Mama and Dad, Shannon, and Robbie. After that, he has promised to hide me. He’s also promised to establish secure communication between us. More importantly? He will ensure that you and your family remain unknown, undiscovered by my pursuers.”

  “By ‘pursuers,’ do you mean that man? The one you’ve been with?” Kari’s next two words were nothing more than a breath of warm air against Laynie’s ear. “The Russian?”

  “Yes. I-I betrayed him, and he’ll never forgive me for that. It’s not his way. He’s . . . powerful and, as I was just told, is growing more powerful. Because he’s an ongoing threat to me, he is, by extension, a threat to everyone I love.”

  Tobin materialized beside Laynie. “We need to get this done, Marta. You may ride with us to pick up your family’s vehicles, then ride with them to their farm. Our vehicles will follow close behind.”

  He coughed to clear his throat. “I’ll be hitching a ride in whichever vehicle you’re in. Okay?”

  “More than okay, Tobin. Thank you.”

  He steered Laynie and Kari toward the Suburban and opened a rear door. Kari, then Laynie, climbed into the second row of seats. Max and Søren, from the back row, silently observed.

  Laynie turned in her seat. “Hello again, Max.”

  He was goggle-eyed. “Aunt Laynie?”

  “One and the same. I’m sorry I couldn’t be more forthcoming when I met you.”

  “I-I totally get it, honest. I, um—”

  Laynie put a finger to her lips.

  “Er, right. Sorry.”

  “You must be Søren.”

  Søren’s wide smile greeted Laynie. “Finally. I was beginning to think Kari’s sister was just a family legend.”

  “More myth than legend, I’m afraid.”

  Søren cut his eyes toward Kari. “What’s the plan?”

  “Home. As quickly as we can. To see Mama and Dad.”

  At the burger joint, Søren called and spoke to Ilsa, then Gene. Ilsa would keep the kids up past their bedtime. Gene, shocked and stuttering praises to God, said he would prepare Polly for Laynie’s short visit.

  Tobin and Laynie climbed into Kari and Søren’s car with them for the less-than-two-hour drive to RiverBend. Max, not to be left out of high family drama, followed behind in his truck. It was fully dark now, but Laynie could see the headlights of the two Suburbans keeping pace behind them.

  Laynie could finally ask Kari all the questions burning in her heart. “Kari, how are Mama and Dad?”

  “Dad is well. He’s eighty now, but quite healthy. Mama tires easily and is bedbound a lot. Dad, with help from the home health care aide, gets her up into her wheelchair several hours each day. But she is still the sweetest woman, Laynie. Still Mama.”

  “Oh, I miss her! And Dad! What time will it be when we arrive? Will they be awake? What about Shannon and Robbie? I can’t wait to see all of them!”

  Søren answered. “Don’t worry, Laynie. They know you’re coming. They are all there. Waiting for you.”

  Laynie sat back. They are waiting for me.

  WHEN THEY ARRIVED, Søren parked in the driveway. The Suburbans parked near the house. Laynie saw two faces crowded together, peering from the window, staring into the dark. Her mouth dried up.

  They will have questions, so many questions—and I will have no answers for them.

  The door opened. The children stood there. Shannon held Rob’s hand.

  “Aunt Laynie?” It was Shannon. Robbie wouldn’t remember her.

  “Let’s go inside, first, shall we?” Kari suggested.

  Tobin withdrew to consult with the other agents. Kari led Laynie into the house. Søren and Max followed.

  Laynie cast her eyes around the room, getting the lay of it, then focused on the serious-faced girl before her.

  “Hello, Shannon.”

  Shannon studied her. “I remember you. You went away. You promised to come back, but you never did.”

  “I know. I was, um, unavoidably delayed, making me very late coming back . . . but I’m here now.”

  Shannon’s expression told Laynie that her explanation wouldn’t fly.

  More like “crashed on takeoff.”

  Laynie changed her approach. “You have grown so much. Both of you.”

  Robbie, no sign of recognition on his face but sensing tension, edged a little closer to Shannon.

  Laynie shifted her eyes to him. “You were just a little boy the last time I saw you, Robbie. Only a year old.”

  “He doesn’t remember you. ’Cause you never came back.”

  Laynie sank to the floor, sat cross-legged on the carpet. “I’d like to explain.”

  Shannon didn’t budge.

  Laynie took a deep breath and dove in. “Shannon, the work I do is important, but it is also dangerous.”

  The girl’s eyes narrowed. “Dangerous how?”

  “Um, some people—bad people—don’t like what I do. They would like to stop my work. If they knew about my family, they might try to hurt all of you. To get at me. Hurt me. Stop me. So, I have to keep my family a secret from them.”

  Shannon frowned and studied Laynie, weighing her words. “You never came back so that the bad people wouldn’t find us?”

  Laynie nodded. “That’s why I haven’t visited or called or written letters. I couldn’t endanger the people I love most in the whole world. I hope you can under
stand and . . . forgive me?”

  Shannon was more perceptive than Laynie expected. “Your job is a secret . . . because you fight bad people?”

  Laynie moved her chin up and down just a fraction.

  “Oh.”

  Shannon’s eyes blinked rapidly . . . then she was in Laynie’s arms. Sobbing.

  “It’s okay, Shannon. It’s okay, honey,” Laynie whispered.

  “I’m sorry, Aunt Laynie. I’ve thought really horrid things about you. I’m s-s-so sorry!”

  “How were you to know any differently, sweetheart? It’s okay. Truly, it is. We just . . . you just can’t ever say anything about me. To anyone. Ever.”

  “I won’t! I promise, Aunt Laynie.”

  While she’d been absorbed with Shannon’s questions and their subsequent reconciliation, someone else had entered the room. Laynie raised her head and froze.

  “Daddy?”

  Gene stood behind a wheelchair. He was much as she’d remembered, but stooped. Older.

  Laynie’s gaze shifted to Polly.

  “Mama?”

  “Laynie-girl. Come see me, sugar.” Polly held out shaking arms, but her voice was unaltered by the MS.

  Kari disentangled Laynie from Shannon’s grasp, and Laynie stumbled to her parents, dropped before her mother’s wheelchair.

  “Oh, Mama!”

  Every memory Laynie had of Polly rushed back upon her. The warmth of her arms, the scent of her embrace, her sweet voice, her enduring love.

  “Laynie, baby. We been prayin’ s’ long t’ see you again!”

  “I’m sorry, Mama. Please forgive me!”

  “Nothin’ t’ forgive, sugar. We’re not that dense. We figgered out ’long time ago what you were about, why we couldn’t call you ’cept in emergencies, why you couldn’t come home more’n once a year. Figgered out why you were so closemouthed . . . so secretive.”

  “You did?”

  “Well, first, we couldn’t b’lieve it ’cause it was too much to swaller, but after you didn’t come to Kari’s wedding—Kari, your only sister? That’s when we knew f’sure. And then when you stopped comin’ home in the summer an’ we didn’t hear from you for years ’cept what Kari told us? Only confirmed what we’d come t’ suspect.”

  Laynie laid her head in Polly’s lap, and Polly placed her hand on Laynie’s bowed head.

  “We just kept a-prayin’ and a-prayin’, Laynie-girl. Gave you into the Lord’s hands, only thing we could do.”

  “I-I felt those prayers, Mama. If you only knew . . .” But Laynie could not share more with her family. She’d already transgressed lines that were never to be approached, let alone crossed.

  “Say, can this old man get a hug?” Gene reached out his arms and Laynie went to him.

  “Daddy . . .”

  “Little Duck. Our Little Duck.”

  AN HOUR LATER, AFTER many more embraces, after Robbie had outgrown his shyness and allowed Laynie to briefly hug him, after Laynie was certain Shannon had forgiven her because the girl had glued herself to Laynie’s hip, and after she had assured her parents that, in the future, she would be able to call and write them again, Tobin knocked on the door.

  Kari answered, but Laynie had been expecting the interruption. When Tobin signaled her with a tap on his watch, Laynie nodded.

  Then she turned to her family. “I promised my superior it would be a short visit. That was the only way I could convince him to let me come home to all of you.”

  She remained dry-eyed as she made the rounds, saying goodbye, hugging her parents, Shannon and Rob, Max, and Søren a last time. She was in control . . . until Kari walked out with her, until Laynie saw the Suburbans and the agents waiting, until Wolfe opened a rear door and made an impatient gesture.

  Laynie turned to Kari and a sob broke from her. “I don’t choose to go, Kari. I don’t want to! I want to stay with you, with Mama and Dad. I want to watch Shannon and Robbie grow up—I want to, but I can’t. Please understand. Please.”

  It was a moment before Kari could answer. “It hurts, I admit it. It hurts so much that you are right here, and yet you cannot stay with us, but suppose I do . . . understand.”

  She pulled Laynie to her heart again. “Until we meet again, little sister. Until then? I will continue to pray for you and trust the Lord to keep you safe.”

  “Thank you for not giving up on me. Thank you for continuing to pray for me, Kari. I need to tell you . . . I should be dead right now. My enemies were so close to catching me after I ran! But your prayers? I know that God has kept me hidden these past weeks because of them. I’m not . . . I’m not quite ready to, you know, take those steps to become a Christian, but it-it’s not for lack of God’s intervention in my life.”

  Kari smiled through her tears. “Acknowledging his hand on your life is a big step in the right direction. You’ll get there. I know you will.”

  Laynie’s laugh ended on a sob. “We’re just two fellows . . .”

  “Yes. Two fellows in a ship. Our hearts belong in the same ship, Laynie, they belong in Jesus. Please, Laynie. No one can count on tomorrow. Don’t wait too long to give yourself to the Savior, to wholly surrender to the Lordship of Christ. He loves you so!”

  A man’s voice—Wolfe’s—called to Laynie. “Let’s go, Elaine.”

  “I’m sorry, Kari!” Laynie sobbed.

  Kari breathed in Laynie’s ear, “The Lord be with you, Laynie. We’ll see each other again. Until then? Wherever you go, little sister, remember . . . our hearts will always be safest in him.”

  Postscript

  ZAKHAR WAITED IN THE Olander whore’s apartment until midnight. By then his vexation was beyond his control. He slammed the apartment door behind him and stalked the few blocks to his rental car.

  Thinking only of his frustration and how he would spring his next trap on the woman, he wasn’t paying as close attention to his surroundings as he should have—but then he’d been trained as a soldier, a bodyguard, and the occasional assassin. Not a covert operator.

  “FBI! Put your hands on the car roof! NOW!”

  Five agents, their blue vests stamped with “FBI,” descended on Zakhar. Within seconds, they had cuffed him and emptied his pockets.

  “What is this for?” he demanded in heavily accented English. “I am American citizen. I have passport—you see? I have passport!”

  “An American? Yeah, an’ I’m from New Zealand.” The female senior agent possessed the unmistakable inflections of the South Bronx—a far cry from a Kiwi accent. “You’re under arrest for at least a hunnerd counts of possession of child pornography. I say a hunnerd, but we ain’t finished countin’ yet.”

  She held up his laptop. “Don’t fret none, pal—we’ll get the charges right. We got a lot more in the queue than just porn, ’cording to my boss.”

  “Lies! All lies!” Zakhar shouted.

  The senior agent slanted her eyes toward him, and her sly smile widened. “Oh? Then, how ’bout this? Murder of two law enforcement officers, murder of a civilian, attempted murder, murder for hire, grand theft auto, impersonating an officer of the law, and—topping the hit parade—espionage. Any of that ring a bell? Sure, ya did a lotta that in Canada, but not to worry. The US’ll turn ya over to the Canuck feds—eventually. ’Course, we’ll carve our pound of flesh outta ya first. It’ll be years b’fore it’s their turn.”

  She laughed. “Huh! B’lieve I hear the sound of a couple of back-t’-back life sentences, whatta ya think?”

  To her subordinates she growled, “Do the world a solid and haul this trash outta here.”

  HIS SECURITY SYSTEM’S strobing lights warned Syla of the intrusion. He stared at the monitors—at the swarm of armed FBI agents lining up to breach his hiding place.

  A raid. A federal one.

  Syla was as stunned and surprised at what was unfolding as Zakhar had been at his arrest, but at least Syla wasn’t going to be caught flat-footed! No, the location of his office high up in the mob warehouse would delay the feds
long enough for Syla to implement his contingency plans.

  Syla burst into a flurry of keystrokes, bringing up the window to a program that would wipe his hard drives, browser history, and online profiles multiple times. Nothing could stop it. Even if they shut down his machines, the program would resume upon reboot. But before he initiated the “wipe,” he executed a specially prepared series of events, setting in motion the contingency plan that would be most personally gratifying.

  Because Syla knew who had sent the feds. At least his payback would ensure that she never saw daylight again.

  “Vyper, you’re finished,” Syla sneered. “Next time, don’t play with the big boys.”

  He laughed. “Oh, wait! There won’t be a ‘next time!’”

  With one eye on the monitors, half his attention focused on the FBI tactical team as they began their breach, Syla initiated his system-wide wipe. It started as he expected—but then . . .

  Then things went very badly awry.

  In the center of every single one of his eighteen monitors, a dot of light appeared. The dots flickered, grew larger, expanded, and unfurled into the red-and-white maple-leaf flag of Canada. Across all of Syla’s twelve screens, the Canadian flag waved gently to a triumphant, full-blast, orchestral rendition of . . .

  O Canada!

  Our home and native land

  True patriot love

  in all thy sons command!

  Syla hit Escape, then the enter and delete keys. He pressed Alt+Tab. He pounded Ctrl+Alt+Delete again and again. He tried in vain to “get behind” the anthem, to find his program window and execute the destruct sequence, but the “O Canada” bomb had locked him out. Even as the boots of federal agents pounded their way up four flights of stairs to the top of the warehouse, Syla fought to override the virus, but could not.

  “FBI! Freeze! Get on the ground!”

  Syla ignored their commands. He stared at his monitors—an entire wall of them—all flying the red-and-white flag of Canada. The anthem ended with a triumphant,

 

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