by S L Shelton
On my way back to Virginia, my phone rang.
“Hello,” I answered.
“Do I have to call in a cleanup team for anything?” John Temple asked without saying hi.
Shit!
“I don’t understand,” I said in an even and sincere tone.
“Well, usually when you run off, it requires a cleanup team or military support,” he replied.
“I’m not sure what makes you think I’ve ‘run off’ to do anything,” I said incredulously.
“Scott…” he sighed in exasperation. “I’m looking at your GPS signal. I know you just left Potomac, Maryland.”
“What?!” I said before pulling my phone from my ear and hitting the icon for my modified location app.
When it gave me the green thumbs-up display, I put the phone back to my ear.
“I’m not sure who you have running your tech for you, but I’d check that location again,” I said.
There was a pause, then, “Oh. You’re right. It must have been a glitch in the satellite or something.”
“There. You see? Worrying for nothing,” I said, realizing it was far too late to cover my tracks…time to make it a game.
“The only problem is that it now says you're at TravTech,” John replied with a bored tone. “—and I’m sitting in your office. Jo said you were on your way to Maryland the last time she talked to you.”
“Shit,” I mumbled to myself.
“What’s that?” he asked.
“Nothing. Just spilled my coffee,” I lied. “I’ll see you in a bit.”
“Alright,” he replied, then, “Scott. If you had asked me, I would have told you—you wouldn’t find anything at GGP.”
“I guess I learned my lesson,” I replied, trying to sound authentic, but I hadn’t pulled it off.
“That’ll be the day,” he said. “My office when you get back into town.”
He hung up. As soon as the connection ended, I called Jo’s extension at TravTech.
“Mr. Wolfe’s office,” she answered.
“Jo. Is John there?” I asked.
“In the office?” she asked.
“Yeah,”
“Hold on. Let me check,” she said, then put me on hold.
The Muzak version of “Rock You Like a Hurricane” was actually pretty decent. Jo came back on the line after a few moments.
“Nope,” she replied when she came back on.
“Was he?” I asked.
“Nope.”
“Shit,” I muttered. “Okay. Thanks. I’ll see you in a little while.”
“Bye.”
“That son-of-a-bitch got me,” I said aloud after tossing my phone on the passenger seat, smiling and shaking my head.
**
12:15 p.m.—Langley, Virginia
“Why aren't we meeting in your office?” I asked John after the waitress took our lunch order in a restaurant near CIA Headquarters.
“I'm hungry,” he said with a smile, but I could tell there was another reason. Behind the smile was worry, tugging at the corner of his eye. He was trying hard to cover it, but I saw it there, plain as the gray in his hair.
I nodded without pushing the matter. I'd pry later if I couldn't glean the source from our conversation over lunch. John took a sip of water and then leaned back in his chair; the worry turned into a frown that rippled across his features for just a split second. Are you being obvious on purpose or have I just gotten so good at reading you?
“You're doing good,” John said finally, sending a split second smirk flitting across my face as it seemed he was answering my silent question. “You've impressed a lot of people with your analyst talents.”
“That's good,” I replied dismissively. I tried to stop it, but I could tell there was a hint of disappointment in my voice as well. Not so good, I hope, that you’re going to keep me stuck behind a computer.
He watched me for a moment to see if there was any other reaction, but I had learned a few tricks from him. Sometimes the best way to get information from someone is to keep your mouth shut.
“Are you happy with the work?” he asked, fishing.
“It's a lot like what I used to do,” I replied with a shrug. “Except for the part where I track down and subdue ex—”
John shook his head suddenly, looking around the patio dining area to see if anyone was listening. I just smiled. I had no intention of revealing anything in public. I just wanted to put John on edge like he had done to me earlier on my way back from GGP.
He looked back at me and saw my grin.
“Bastard,” he said as a smile softened the stress on his face. You actually get off knowing I can play you! You are an odd one, John Temple.
“Payback.”
“I deserved that,” he admitted and then leaned forward, lowering his voice. “What made you go up there?”
“The background check on the funds,” I replied plainly revealing only half the truth. “You said there was a problem, so I was solving it.”
John nodded.
“How did you know I wouldn't be satisfied with what I got there?” I asked, attacking an opening he had left for me earlier.
“They're a government contractor,” he replied as if I should have already known, but beneath the surface, I could see there was much about this he was holding back. “They aren't going to share anything with you…especially on a cold call. In fact, I'd bet you didn't even get past reception.”
“I had a sit-down meeting with Roger Gallow,” I replied coolly as if it was ridiculous of him to doubt my ability to gain access. “The chairman of the company.”
John blinked in astonished silence for a few beats and then shook his head. “No wonder Burgess got a call.”
“The Director got a call…about me?”
“Just a query through the clearances department,” John said, but he pressed his lips tightly for a flash, telling me there was more to it than that. Gallow was checking on my story…he doesn’t trust me anymore than my inner hitchhiker, or I, trust him.
“He took the meeting,” I replied defensively. “He didn't really reveal anything to me…but he did know my father.”
John looked at me blankly, but it was a forced blankness; he was trying harder now to cover his microexpressions.
This is why we are meeting outside of CIA Headquarters. You know something and now you want to know how much I know about it too… What do you know?
Well...what do I know?
Dad was a chemist.
There's a big trust fund for Mom's health care.
Granger Psychiatric—there's also a “Granger” in the name “GGP.”
Gallow—ah, Gallow…how did you know I was going to squeeze your hand?
My mental hitchhiker defect was stirred up just by being there…disturbingly so.
Lots of project security.
Government Projects
Gene splicing
Mom knows a secret, and Dad wasn't a brute—according to her anyway.
And now! John meets with me out of the building after my visit.
Jesus! I have more questions than answers…Sorry, John, I can't share anything with you yet.
“What happened to the trust fund access?” he asked. “I thought you were trying to see if you had access to the long-term care funding for your mom.”
“They're connected,” I replied though that was only partially true—two could play at this game. There had been no need for me to speak with Gallow at all—I had just been curious. And now I was even more curious than I had been before.
John nodded and then stared blankly at the table for a few seconds while he organized his thoughts—or his next line of attack.
“Did you get it cleared up?” he asked suddenly, his gaze rising back to my face.
“Not yet,” I replied. “I'm supposed to get some documentation from their HR person as soon as she can pull it all together.”
“So then that'll be it?” he asked though it sounded more like a directive than a q
uestion.
“I guess,” I shrugged.
He nodded. “Okay.”
Our lunch came and while we ate, we talked about sailing, fishing, climbing, and all manner of non-Agency related business. I could tell there was something else going on under the surface, but I wasn't sure why he wouldn't just spit it out.
Watch and learn, my other voice whispered.
Though I was annoyed by the intrusion again, particularly after the voice had acted so flakey during my visit to GGP Labs, I did watch, patiently assembling the subtle puzzle that was John Temple.
“Been climbing recently?” he asked.
“Yeah. I climb every weekend unless the weather doesn't allow for it.” I replied casually. “In fact, I'm supposed to meet with a friend on Saturday…we're working on a nice face of shale in West Virginia.”
“Cool. How about your sessions with Doc Hebron?” he asked, slipping a serious question into the middle of our casual lunch banter.
I finished chewing and swallowing a bite of my fish before glaring at him with a knowing grin. You’re going to have to be more subtle than that to catch me off guard, John.
“They're going fine,” I replied finally. “The nightmares stopped after my midnight visitors last month, and I'm pretty sure that the rest of my stress walked out the door when Barb did.”
“Really?” He replied with some surprise in his tone, though I could tell he wasn't surprised. I suspected Dr. Hebron had already briefed him on our progress.
I raised my eyebrow and nodded.
“No anxiety left over after Burbank?” he asked as if he were checking items off a checklist. The hunt for and capture of Mark Gaines had stirred up some questions, but no lingering emotional scars.
“Nope,” I replied. “Though I'd like to know how Mark is doing.”
John nodded but didn't reply.
“Nothing, huh?” I asked.
He smiled and shook his head after a few beats. I shrugged and went back to eating.
“I've been meaning to ask you,” he said as he cut into his steak. “You seem to dress the way you want over there at TravTech…is there no dress code?”
Odd question.
“Nope,” I replied. “As long as we don't come in naked, they couldn’t care less…and now that I have my own section, they don't even notice us. Sometimes we can go the whole week without even seeing anyone from TravTech—though I do get disapproving glares from our Baynebridge security guard from time to time…especially when I come in wearing sandals.”
John chuckled. “So if you wanted to, say, grow a beard…you could do that without any flack from the company?” he asked.
“I guess,” I replied as I chewed.
“I wish I had that luxury,” he said. “When I was a SEAL, I had a big thick beard.”
I looked up at him, suddenly struck by the disclosure.
“A SEAL?”
“Well I wasn't always old, you know,” he laughed. “It pained me to shave it off when I came out of the field…took me forever to grow it.”
I looked at him with a new respect…not only was he a great spy, but he had also been a field operator like Lieutenant Marsh. I nodded my acknowledgment of his regret.
“How about you?” he asked as I finished my meal.
“How about me, what?”
“How long would it take you to grow a beard?” He asked casually as he took another bite of steak.
Hmmm
“Not sure,” I replied. “I'll have to get back to you.”
He shrugged, but I saw a flit of amusement dance across his face in microexpressions.
Why can't you just be straightforward and ask what you want to ask? I wondered—but then it dawned on me. The CIA has made you deceptive by nature, and more than that, it's started doing the same thing to me…cool! I'm already turning into a spy!
**
11:25 p.m. on Sunday, August 29th—Arlington, Virginia
CIA Operative CHARLOTTE CLARK was lying on her back in her own bed for the first time in weeks—completely absorbed in her approaching orgasm. Under the sheet and powerfully lifting her legs and hips was Nick, bringing her some much-needed stress relief…and release.
“Oh, Jesus, fucking lord,” she moaned, her fingers curling tightly, grasping the sheet around Nick’s neck as his head bobbed beneath the covers.
He stopped momentarily and uncovered his head, revealing a devious grin. “You can worship me if you want, but you have to let me breathe.”
She pushed his head back down. “Less talk,” she panted, nearing the crux of her release.
As she approached climax again, her phone rang.
“No!” she screamed as she looked to her nightstand, hoping it was someone she could ignore. “Shit!” she hissed as she shoved Nick’s head away from her—it was John Temple.
“Clark,” she said into the phone breathlessly.
“Catch you at a bad time?” John asked.
“No, sir,” she said, fighting Nick away from returning to his place between her legs. “I just had to run for the phone.”
“Hold on a second, I need to conference in the rest of the team,” John said.
Nick’s phone began to ring on the other side of the room. He fell out of bed with a thud, his feet still wrapped in the sheets, before grabbing it and running naked into the other room to answer—Charlotte heard him answer the phone on the other end of the line.
“Horiatis,” Nick said, also breathing heavily.
Charlotte heard a mild chuckle come from John. “Nick, hold on for the analysts,” he said.
A second later two more voices were on the line. “Ruth here,” then “—and Paul.”
“Okay. First, I want to apologize for disturbing your evening,” John said with an amused tone to his voice. “Particularly Charlotte and Nick, who probably haven’t even unpacked from Azerbaijan yet.”
“I was just watching TV,” Nick lied.
“Good. Then I don’t feel so bad,” John said dismissively. “Ruth, do you want to tell Charlotte what we just intercepted?”
“Sure,” Ruth said. “We just intercepted cell traffic from a tagged al-Qaida resource. It looks like they’re supposed to be taking delivery of a load of weapons from our Serbs on Thursday. It’s the first cell contact connecting the Serbs to this particular group, so we think it may be legit.”
“Where’s the delivery supposed to be made?” Nick asked.
“That’s the weird part,” Paul inserted. “The transaction is supposed to take place in Midyat, Turkey. Not exactly the typical location for these guys, but that may just be a diversion.”
“Why would they risk that?”
“We think they’ve figured out we’re trailing them,” Ruth said. “It looks like they’re chosing less-obvious locations to make the exchanges to avoid detection.”
“What sort of tracking do we have on the al-Qaida source?” Charlotte asked. “And how reliable have their communications been?”
“It’s a tagged phone,” Ruth said. “A bugged battery—and so far, we’ve gotten nothing but reliable INTEL from it.”
“Is there any connection to Ukil on the weapons sale?” Nick asked, referring to the Turkish arms dealer he’d similarly tagged with a bugged battery.
“No,” Ruth replied. “It seems the Serbs already had what the al-Qaida group needed…besides, it's unlikely Ukil would get involved with an al-Qaida deal so soon after being shot up by one of their splinter groups. I think he's got something cooking with some Syrian rebels though…the Serbs might be the suppliers on that as well. They haven't been making many direct sales; this one is an oddball deal…tiny.”
“Excellent! Fresh leads. When do you want us to leave?” Nick asked.
“You’re staying at Langley,” John replied. “I need you to bring Scott up to speed on the new INTEL and give him some insight into the movements. He’s going to need his hand held a little.”
“What?” Nick asked incredulously. “Why is Monkey Wrench being br
ought into this?”
“I want him on the tech team. I want you to bring him along, and I want Charlotte in Turkey to run the tagging operation. We’re using Delta on this one,” John said, referring to the Army's First Special Forces Operation Detachment-Delta—Delta Force—a Joint Special Operations Group similar to Navy SEAL DevGru.
Nick appeared in the bedroom doorway and waved his hand at Charlotte, mouthing the word “no” at her aggressively.
Charlotte put her hands and shoulders up in a gesture of helplessness. How could she say no to her boss? “I’m on board if you think it’s solid, skipper,” she said with some reservation. “I've never worked with Monkey Wrench, but I've heard good things.”
Nick shook his head in defeat and stormed off into the other room. “Whatever,” he said into the phone after disappearing around the corner.
“Good,” John said. “Char, you’ll leave tonight. I want you to hook up with the Delta team at Incirlik and walk them through the tag routine. Most of them have been through it before, but I don’t want any slip-ups. We’ve been after the Serbs for months and don’t have a single trace to show for it.”
“Yes, sir,” she responded, dropping her head in frustration. Even if Nick were in the mood, there would be no tension release for her tonight.
“And, Nick,” John continued. “First thing Monday, I want you to be organizing a tech and communications package for Scott. He’ll need to be brought up to speed on almost all the COM gear.”
“Yep,” Nick replied tersely.
“See you tomorrow,” John said. “Have a good flight, Charlotte.”
“Thank you, sir,” she replied before ending the call.
Nick walked back into the bedroom and stood in the doorway, staring at her in agitation, a mild sneer flickering across his features.
“You couldn’t have resisted that just a little bit?” Nick asked her crossly.
She chuckled. “You know, it’s kinda difficult to take your anger seriously while you’re standing there with your wang out,” she said, trying to stifle the laughter.
He was not amused. He walked to the other side of the bed and pulled his pants on. “It would be nice if I could get a little help on this,” he said as he zipped up.