A Spy For a Spy

by Diane Henders

  His voice interrupted my scattered thoughts. “Please have a seat, and we’ll begin.” He indicated the sofa, and I sat, deliberately leaning back and letting my arms rest comfortably beside me.

  Relaxed, open posture. Nice and cooperative, nothing to hide. Not a raving loony.

  He smiled. “May I call you Aydan?”

  “Sure.”

  “Aydan, before we begin, is there anything you’d like to talk about? I’m not given details, of course, but I understand you’ve had some stressful experiences lately.”

  Stressful. No shit, Dr. Freud.

  I cranked on a smile of my own. “No thanks, I’m fine. What do you need from me today?”

  “Well, let’s dive right in.” He smiled again, doing his own relaxed, open posture across from me. “Let’s start with your claustrophobia.”

  “Okay.”

  He eyed me in expectant silence. I shrugged. “So I’m claustrophobic.”

  “How do you feel about that?”

  I suppressed another groan. Be cooperative.

  “It’s a pain in the a… A nuisance sometimes.”

  “You seemed quite distressed when I saw you in the secured area.”

  I squirmed. “Yeah, we already established that I’m claustrophobic. It is what it is. I’ll deal with it.”

  “Do you think it might be beneficial to learn some skills that could help you cope with it more effectively?”

  “I’ve got the damn skills!”

  A glance at his kind, patient, accepting expression filled me with an intense desire to launch myself off the sofa and run screaming. I clamped down on control and forced my bunched-up shoulders to relax.

  “Dr. Rawling,” I said in my most reasonable tones, “Thank you, but I had an excellent therapist quite a few years ago, and I do have the skills to cope with this. I’ve just had a tough couple of weeks, and I’m a little stressed. I’ll deal with it. I just need some time.”

  “So you’re saying that your claustrophobic reaction has been exacerbated by your recent experiences? Would you like to talk about those?”

  Not fucking likely.

  I squelched that response. Be cooperative, dammit.

  I kept it short. “I just about got blown up a couple of days ago. And I’ve been tied up far too often lately.”

  I shut up before my voice could betray me. The hiss of the butane torch and the smell of my own flesh burning. I had relived it again last night while I fought the implacable bonds of my dreams.

  I shrugged. “I’ll get over it. I just need a bit of time.”

  He leaned forward, radiating sympathy. “Aydan, were you harmed by the people who tied you up?”

  “No. Well, nothing major,” I amended, driven to honesty by those damn kind eyes. “A few bruises. One little burn. No big deal.” I shrugged again before realizing I was shrugging far too often. I settled back into the sofa and rearranged my relaxed, open posture.

  “Were you threatened?”

  The last strained threads of my equanimity snapped. “Oh, hell no, it was all in good fun. We just had a few giggles and then they let me go. What the hell do you think?”

  His calm demeanor remained unaffected. “Are you sleeping well at night?”

  “Oddly enough, I tend to sleep for shit right after people try to kill me. Just oversensitive, I guess.”

  “Aydan,” he said gently. “I feel as though you’re uncomfortable talking to me. Is that true?”

  I drew a calming breath and tried for a forthright tone. “Yes. I understand that you’ve been asked to evaluate me, but I really don’t want to discuss this right now. If I think I need help, I won’t hesitate to get it. I really just need a bit of time. That’s all.”

  He fixed me with his sympathetic gaze again. “Aydan, have you heard of post-traumatic stress? It often occurs when people experience frightening events or violence, particularly if they’ve felt powerless during-”

  “Yes.” I met his eyes with a stare that probably looked more hostile than I’d intended. “Have you ever experienced post-traumatic stress?”

  “I’ve helped quite a few people to deal with it, but no, I haven’t experienced it first-hand.”

  “I have. Trust me, if I need help, I’ll ask for it.”

  He smiled and rose, as composed as ever. “If you ever feel you’d like to talk things over, here’s my card. Call me any time.”

  “Thanks.”

  I followed him to the door and closed it behind him before tottering back to lower myself onto my sofa, holding my tremors together with both arms wrapped around my body.

  Just a little time. That’s all I needed.

  After a few minutes, I blew out a long breath, reaching for composure. Several deep, slow yoga breaths helped me relax my clenched muscles, and I rose and shook the tension out of my arms and shoulders before heading for the door.

  I had just poured boiling water over my teabag when Stemp paused outside the lunchroom, his expression lightening at the sight of me. “Oh, good, there you are.” He inclined his head in the direction he’d come. “Please come to my office for a briefing. Bring your tea if you’d like.”

  God, if he kept acting like a real human being, I was going to get rug burn on my jaw. I retrieved it from its dangling position and followed him down the hall.

  Once we were settled in our chairs, he shot me an unreadable look across the desk. “Dr. Rawling said you had a short interview.”

  I nodded and busied myself sipping tea.

  After a pause, he spoke again. “I said ‘don’t tell him anything classified’, not ‘don’t tell him anything at all’.”

  I couldn’t think of a useful response to that, so I sipped more tea.

  The hint of humour in his voice made me look up quickly, catching the little quirk at the corner of his mouth. “I probably would have done the same in your place.” The quirk disappeared as if it had never existed. “I understand you’ve been undercover a long time, and I know how deeply ingrained those reflexes become.”

  I returned my attention to my tea, guilt twisting my gut. He really did understand. According to Kane, he’d been an excellent field agent before he took over the director’s position. My pretense felt like an insult to all the dedicated agents who put their lives on the line to protect idiot civilians like me.

  But, shit, it was a little late to confess now, wasn’t it?

  Stemp’s voice interrupted my uncomfortable thoughts. “Dr. Rawling is an excellent resource, and I hope you’ll avail yourself of his expertise. We need you in top mental condition.”

  I dragged my gaze up out of my teacup to meet his eyes reluctantly. “I will if I need it. I just need a bit of time.”

  He nodded. “I’ll accept that, for now. But if I have reason to believe you need help, I will order you to get it.”

  My stomach dropped. He could, too. Now that I was officially an agent, I was under his direct command. The tricky bastard had out-manoeuvred me again.

  I blew out a sigh. “All right. Fine.”

  We eyed each other for a moment over the rim of my mug before he spoke again. “With that in mind, I have an assignment for you this weekend.”

  I knew he hadn’t missed the convulsive tightening of my grip on the mug. Willing the blood back into my knuckles, I steadied it with my other hand, my mind stampeding into near-panic. ‘The weekend’ was tomorrow, for chrissake.

  “When I said I needed time, I was thinking of days or weeks, not hours.” My voice didn’t sound too bad for someone on the verge of hyperventilating.

  Stemp’s flat eyes appraised me. “So was I. How does a few days in Las Vegas sound?”

  “Uh…”

  Absolutely horrible.

  My lips didn’t have time to frame those words before he spoke again. “The mission itself entails virtually no risk. It’s just a dead drop, and it needs to be completed before Sunday at nineteen-hundred hours local time. The agent who was supposed to do it has been… unavoidably detained, so we nee
d someone else to take over.”

  Dead drop? ‘Dead’ sounded damn risky to me. And Stemp’s slight hesitation over the words ‘unavoidably detained’ didn’t reassure me, either. Getting dead did tend to detain a person.

  He was still talking. “…so you could fly down tonight and spend a few days at the Mirage, on Department expense, of course. Make the drop and come back late Tuesday.” He regarded me as if expecting me to jump up and do a happy-dance.

  “Uh…”

  Time to come clean. I couldn’t fake this, and I’d be stupid to try. If he decided to kill me for my deception, so be it, but at least my incompetence wouldn’t hurt anybody else.

  I gathered my courage and sucked in a deep enough breath to make my ribs protest. “I don’t know what a dead drop is. I’m not undercover now and I never have been. I don’t have any chain of command other than you, my so-called ‘op’ was just me sneaking around doing stuff on my own initiative, and I was lying to cover my ass when I told you about it.”

  I clutched my trembling mug tighter and met his eyes. “I’m just a dumb civilian bookkeeper. I’m sorry.”

  He returned my gaze with a flat stare and stony silence, and I resisted the urge to close my eyes and whimper. God, just shoot me and get it over with.

  I flinched when he laughed out loud.

  “Oh, well done, Kelly.” He extracted a small canvas bag from his desk drawer and pushed it across the desk. “Here are your phones. Use the daily check-in protocol. I’ll arrange for your security bypass at the airport, and your tickets will be ready by noon. The data stick will be delivered to your hotel room, and I’ll leave the details of its drop to you. Use one of the secured phones to let me know when you’ve set it up.”

  He glanced at his wristwatch. “The analysts have flagged a few urgent files, so you’ll have a couple of hours to decrypt them and tie up any loose ends before you go.”

  “Uh… N… uh, but, wait… No.” I gathered my scattered wits and tried again. “No! Listen, I’m not an agent and I don’t have a clue what to do...”

  I trailed off as he held up a hand. “I appreciate your dedication to your cover, but there’s no need to continue the charade. I’m already convinced of your acting skill.” He gave me a pleasant smile and a nod of dismissal before transferring his attention to his computer screen. “Enjoy your trip.”

  Stunned into passivity by the double whammy of his unprecedented smiles and the utter failure of my confession, I picked up the bag with a numb hand and stumbled out.

  Chapter 5

  Still shell-shocked, I wandered into my office and met Kane’s pleasant greeting with an ineffectual twitch of my stiff lips.

  The smile vanished from his face as he rose quickly from the chair. “Aydan, are you all right? You’re white as a sheet.”

  “Fine.”

  His big warm hand supported my elbow, and I took a measure of comfort from his strength while I wobbled over and sank onto my sofa.

  He stooped to look into my face. “You don’t look fine.”

  It took all my willpower not to fling myself into his arms and beg him to save me. Clinging to the last vestiges of my self-respect, I clenched my hands in my lap and whispered instead.

  “John, I need your help.”

  He shot a glance at the open door before pulling the chair closer to drop into it, leaning forward as his forehead creased into worried lines. “What’s wrong?”

  “What’s a dead drop?”

  He blinked, puzzlement replacing concern. “What…?”

  “Stemp’s sending me to Las Vegas this afternoon to do a dead drop,” I hissed. “I told him I’m just a bookkeeper and I haven’t got a clue, but he didn’t believe me. What’s a dead drop? What am I supposed to do?”

  Kane leaned back in his chair with a guffaw, the tension in his body melting away. “Nice acting job. You really had me going for a minute there.” He shook his head, chuckling. “That was a good one.”

  Frozen in sheer dismay, I was still trying to think of a way to convince him I was serious when Spider and Jack strolled in, trailed by Kasper Doytchevsky.

  Now that I knew Doytchevsky’s history as a Russian spy, I just couldn’t think of him as John Smith anymore. The stench of his body odour pervaded the office, and he made no more eye contact than usual.

  Queasy uncertainty coiled up in the pit of my stomach. I probably should’ve ratted him out to Stemp yesterday. I really had nothing but his word that we were on the same side, and his socially-inept-scientist act proved how convincingly he could lie.

  Must be damn nice to be a real spy with some actual spy skills.

  My bitter reflections were interrupted by Spider’s cheery greeting. “Hi, guys, what’s the joke?”

  Kane grinned. “Aydan’s trying to pull her ‘I’m just a bookkeeper’ act.”

  “Give it up.” Spider shot me a bright-eyed grin of his own. “Maybe if you hadn’t single-handedly infiltrated an enemy base and blown it up…”

  “And cracked open a massive international conspiracy…” Kane chimed in.

  “…we might believe you,” Spider continued.

  “But probably not,” Jack finished with one of her radiant smiles.

  “I’m really just a bookkeeper,” I gritted.

  Kane sobered. “You’re right, of course. As far as any of us officially know, you are just a bookkeeper. Don’t worry, Aydan, this ends here.”

  I looked around at their solemn faces and nods of agreement and felt even worse. “Thanks,” I mumbled.

  Spider leaned close. “But congratulations on your promotion,” he whispered, and squeezed my hand. “I’m so glad you’re not just an asset anymore. You can’t imagine how awful it’s been knowing you had a death sentence hanging over you.”

  The relief and happiness in his youthful face warmed my heart, and I returned his squeeze along with a feeble smile. “Thanks, Spider.”

  “Can we get started?” Doytchevsky’s nasal voice intruded on the moment, and I turned toward him, grateful for the distraction. Deceiving Stemp was bad enough, but living a lie with people I cared about made me feel like the lowest form of pond scum.

  “Yes, let’s,” Jack agreed. “Aydan, I’m taking over Sam’s research…” Her voice wavered, and the thought of Sam’s betrayal made me swallow a hard lump of anger or hurt or something. Whatever it was, it didn’t sit comfortably in my stomach.

  She continued hurriedly, “…so I’m going to monitor a few more of your sessions in the network.”

  “Okay.” I probably looked as sick as she did. A glance around the room assured me I wasn’t the only one. Spider’s usual blithe smile had vanished, leaving his hazel eyes troubled. Kane and Doytchevsky both wore standard-issue inscrutable spy faces, but Doytchevsky’s eyes glittered with rage.

  When my gaze passed over him, he shuttered the expression so quickly I would have missed it if I’d looked an instant later. Jack temporarily blocked my view when she placed the band of electrodes on my forehead, and by the time she moved away Doytchevsky was absorbed at the desktop computer, back to his usual bland facade.

  Spider smiled and handed me the tiny box containing the micro-miniaturized network key that turned me into the world’s only human decryption machine.

  I accepted it reluctantly. Hard to believe such a miniscule piece of technology had completely destroyed the safe, quiet life I’d hoped to live. Goddamn Sam.

  Spider tapped a few keys on his ever-present laptop before looking up. “Ready whenever you are. What are we doing today?”

  “Just a couple of quick decryptions, and then I have to get going.” I suppressed a sigh. “I’m going to Vegas for the weekend.”

  “Oh, cool!” Spider straightened, smiling. “You deserve a nice holiday. Hey, maybe you’ll see Lola there. She’s at another… um… convention.” A flush rose on his cheeks, and I allowed my amusement to generate a smile I hoped everyone would mistake for happy anticipation.

  “Could I get you to pop into the in
ternet for a few minutes, too?” Jack asked. “I just want to nail down a few more baseline readings.”

  “Sure. John, are you ready?”

  He nodded, his hand going to his Sirius Dynamics security fob. I gripped my tiny key and leaned back on the sofa, projecting my mind into the blank void of the brainwave-driven virtual reality environment.

  A moment later, Kane’s avatar popped into existence beside mine, and we made our way down the virtual corridor to the familiar file repository.

  Inside, I shuffled through the file folders, searching for the ones the analysts had flagged. Pulling my chair up to the desk, I glanced at Kane seated beside me. “Ready for another exciting day?”

  He chuckled. “Boring is good. Boring means you’re safe.”

  I could hear the smile in Spider’s voice when it filtered down from above the virtual ceiling. “Please bore us as much as possible.”

  I laughed, too, and opened the file to begin my translation.

  I read off the last line and straightened slowly, rubbing my aching neck. “That’s it. Was it any good?”

  “Yes.” Kane had materialized a computer terminal on the desk beside me, and he looked up from it with a wolfish grin. “Oh, yes, indeed. I’ve been tracking this for months…” He trailed off, focusing on the screen while he typed rapidly with two fingers.

  “Good,” I said to his intent profile. “Jack, I’m done with the files now. Do you need me to do anything specific in the internet?”

  “Just wait a minute...” Her voice sounded preoccupied, and I imagined the tiny crease between her flawless brows while she twiddled with her instruments in the real world. When she spoke again, her usual crisp diction had returned. “All right, Aydan, whenever you’re ready. I don’t need anything specific, so just stay in the internet for a while. About ten minutes should do it.”

  “Okay.” I faded into invisibility, absently wondering for the umpteenth time what vagary of the network key’s design required me to be invisible while I followed the data tunnels outside Sirius’s simulation network.