The American Agent (An American Agent Novel Book 1)

by Eric Dabbs

  On the ledge, Alex exhaled, pressing his back to the brick exterior of the mansion. He had made sure to stand far enough away from the window to keep clear from Coraco’s line of sight. Samantha had herself glued to the other side of the window in a thin line of red dress, flexing calve muscles and high heels. The ground beckoned to them three stories below. If they were on the front of the house, they would have been on the second floor. But on the backside, a basement faced the ground level, making the ledge where they stood higher. The landscape flowed down in a gentle slope, increasing the distance between them and the grassy lawn. Beyond a patio, underwater lights illuminated the wind rippled surface of a swimming pool.

  "Stay where you are," Alex said.

  Samantha widened her eyes. "Where could I go?"

  "I heard him lock the window. No need to even try it."

  "Won-der-ful."

  "Why didn't I see that a minute ago?"

  "See what?"

  "That wire."

  Alex studied the electrical wire. It started above their heads and ran over the pool through the courtyard below, all the way to a pool house.

  "What kind of crazy nonsense are you thinking?"

  "It runs downhill. We can make it, trust me." Alex removed his belt from his waist, and then extended his hand, inching closer to Samantha as she scooted her heels in his direction.

  "Are you sure this is gonna work? It looks dangerous."

  “It'll work," Alex said as he slung the belt over the wire and wrapped the ends around his wrists. "Come on, let's go."

  Samantha squeezed him in a bear hug from behind, locking her hands together around him.

  "You ready?"

  "No, I'm not."

  "Good...cause here we go." Alex kicked off from the ledge, sending them gliding down the power line. Samantha’s muffled scream grew louder the closer they got to the pool, their speed picking up like they were on a zip line. Flying through the air, at just the right spot, Alex let the belt unravel from his left wrist. Like rocks, they plummeted to the bottom of the pool with a huge splash.

  Alex kicked in his tux, hands clawing for the surface. When he emerged, Samantha spit out a mouthful of water.

  "You alright?" he said, managing a tight smile.

  "If you consider soaking wet in a five hundred dollar dress, alright, then yeah, I guess I am." She blinked her eyes and shook the excess water from her ears.

  Drenched in his tux, Alex climbed out of the pool and lent Samantha a hand, pulling her out. "We better get lost before Coraco decides to go for a night swim."

  They sloshed around the house to the front lawn, up to the valet who couldn't help but gawk at them.

  "We took a late night dip," Alex said dead serious. "To cool off." When the young man didn't move, he added, "My car."

  "Sí, sí, right away. The Porsche?"

  "That's it."

  Samantha tilted her head. "You're doing rather well for yourself these days, aren't you? A Porsche?”

  Alex shrugged his shoulders. "It's a government car."

  "The economy must be booming back home."

  A long wet five minutes later, the valet brought the silver Porsche 911 around. With Alex behind the wheel, the reunited pair cruised down the hill toward Coraco's front gate. On the main road, he removed the cuff-links and pitched them out the window. The tracking devices bounced off the asphalt and came to a rest on the side of the road.

  23

  With their clothes soaked from the unexpected plunge into Coraco's pool, Alex let Samantha borrow one of his white button-down shirts and a pair of khaki shorts. She had the sleeves rolled up past her elbows and kept a constant tug on the baggy shorts, hiking them up higher on her slender waistline. Her damp hair, a darker shade of sand, rested on her shoulders as she made her way into the living room where she sat on the edge of the couch, a slight tremble in her extremities, whether from the cold or from Alex’s presence in the room, he couldn’t tell.

  Alex brought her a cup of coffee and nestled next to her. He used to make coffee for her in college when they had to stay up late and study...the instant kind, cappuccino style, which meant he had to microwave some water and mix in the powder. It was quick and easy, what she liked...though he preferred real coffee from the pot. At least tonight, he found some French Vanilla creamer for her in a cabinet so she didn’t have to drink it black.

  Though it was difficult to believe, an eternity had passed since that time in their lives. Seven or eight years at least, he guessed. He added up the numbers in his head. No. Nine years! Nine years had flown by since they broke up. Unreal. Now, here they were under the same roof in need of company. In need of security. In need of warmth.

  Samantha inhaled a shivering breath, chills visibly sweeping over her forearms.

  She gave Alex a girlish smile.

  Did he still have that effect on her? Alex felt his face flush warm. Guess she still had an effect on him too.

  Maybe?

  Deciding it was time to break the ice, he set his mug on the coffee table.

  "The papers I swiped," Alex said, "are drying on the kitchen counter. They're legible, so they shouldn't be a complete loss." In the midst of his opening line, heat coursed through his body. Though he was in dry clothes, a chill still remained from his dip in the pool. His thoughts swirled with the reality that Samantha was no longer a girl in college, but a woman, beautiful and mature, and in control of her life. That thought made her more attractive. His next words stumbled over his tongue. "So, I guess we...have...a lot to talk about. Don't we?"

  "Guess we do," Samantha said.

  "Where do we start?"

  "How about your alleged death?"

  "That's classified, but use your imagination. I'm here. I work for the government. Do I really need to explain?"

  "Not really, but..."

  "I can say this much," Alex stared into her bright blue eyes, "it all started after I got out of the military, a couple of months after your mom passed away. Without getting into specifics, your situation and mine, all goes back to a certain bald, stocky guy with a cane."

  "Washington?"

  "That's him." Alex glanced away and then faced her again. "But they did give me pretty much anything I wanted in return for my service."

  "Anything?"

  "Anything."

  Samantha nodded, lips tight together, an expression of uh-uhh on her reddened cheeks. "I was at your house the next day after your alleged abduction and murder. I called the police, then the FBI barged in."

  "What a ruse. I heard about it all. They weren't really the FBI, but they did a professional job, didn't they?"

  "Yep."

  "So, how do you like the name they gave me? Preston." His jawline went ridged, eyes gleaming.

  "Intriguing."

  "Sam." Alex’s mood shifted. His smoldering gaze faded, turned sincere as he touched the top of her hand. The move surprising himself.

  "Yes?"

  "I never meant to hurt you. I can't imagine how you felt at my funeral."

  Samantha nudged closer. "Do you think I would've missed your funeral? You were the love of my..."

  Samantha's slip of the tongue was not lost on Alex. It resounded like a fireplace had burst into flames. Only there was no chimney, or mantle, or hearth. Just the rekindling hearts of two former lovers who's lives miraculously intersected again as if by fate, or some greater force. "I was there that day. I saw your tears,” Alex said.

  "The black Tahoe?"

  "I wanted to wrap my arms around you."

  "Nothing's stopping you now." Samantha gazed at him steady and strong. As Alex leaned in, his lips grazing hers, she gasped lightly.

  The kiss was soft at first, their arms tangling around each other. Then something natural occurred. Passion took over. Raw mind numbing passion. His hand slid to the small of her back as they fell back onto the couch. The heat in his body that had been mild to begin with, now bubbled like a steamy geyser, radiating with the warmth of their bodies.r />
  All the years flooded back, sparked by a passionate kiss.

  Past the point of no return, their lips and limbs combing over each other, Samantha broke free from the kiss.

  "Alex."

  "What?"

  "Do we even know what we're doing?"

  "I certainly do." He dove back into her lips, but she stopped him again.

  Her tone flattened. "I'm not talking about having sex, I'm talking about the whole act. I don't want a one night stand. Two old flames get back together for old time’s sake. It wouldn’t mean anything. Do you understand?"

  Alex pushed up. "Of course, I understand. We're two adults and we can do anything we want."

  "But that doesn't mean we should."

  Alex sat up and sighed, ran a hand through his hair. He felt like a cold wave of rejection had slapped him in the face. He couldn't believe what he was about to say. "I don't know what it means at this point. Maybe we should slow down...and let this pass. See what comes of it tomorrow."

  He rose in a daze, took Samantha by the hand, and lifted her off the couch. "We can talk about it in the morning...it’s getting late." He glanced back toward the master bedroom. His voice sounded dry, like the real him was hiding somewhere. "You can take the bed and I'll sleep on the couch. The other bedroom is unfurnished. I'm not sure why, guess the owners were operating on a tight budget."

  "You can have the bed, Alex. I don't mind sleeping in here."

  "No." He raised a hand. "I won't have it. The bed is yours. That's final."

  He walked around the coffee table, into the bedroom, and after pulling back the sheets, took one of the pillows. Samantha's ginger footsteps sounded behind him.

  "Get some rest," Alex said. "Maybe tomorrow you can tell me all the details of how you became involved with Washington. I'd like to hear what kind of sales pitch he gave you."

  As he left the room, he stuck his head back in the doorway. "Sam, I’m not sure how to say this so I’ll come right out and say it. I want you stay away from Coraco. He’s a dangerous man."

  "Alex, it's my job. It's what I do now. I’m not an elementary school teacher anymore. Besides, we don't even know if he's guilty of anything."

  "The only reason you're here is because Washington is using you as a pawn to make sure I do my job. Can't you see that?"

  "Are you saying I’m not capable of doing my job? Being a spy?

  Alex shook his head. "Look Sam, I just wanna keep you safe, and I don't appreciate Washington putting you in harm's way."

  Samantha fluffed her pillow. "I'm a big girl, Alex. I think I can take care of myself."

  "I know you can, but—”

  "Let's just call it a night. I don't wanna talk about this anymore."

  "Fine." Alex glanced away.

  “Goodnight,” Samantha said.

  "Goodnight," he replied, walking off...

  He headed for the couch, pillow in hand. At the moment, he didn't care about covers or sheets.

  He stretched out on the cushions, reached up and switched off the lamp. The room went dark. A few minutes later, the bedroom light blacked out like their passionate encounter moments before. As he stared up into the darkness, a street light bled through the curtains, its dim glow filtering into the small living room. How did such a good moment go south so quick? The whole thing blew up in his face. He lay there in the quiet room, his thoughts swirling around in his head until finally, sometime later, fatigue set in and he drifted off to sleep.

  24

  By morning, the glare of the rising sun had replaced the glow of the street lamp. Like water draining into a crack on a sidewalk, the sunlight seeped through the crevices of Alex's eyelids, prodding him awake. Squinting, he brought his hand up to shield his face. For some reason, he felt like he'd overslept with so much daylight in the room. That made him think of Samantha.

  He craned his neck in the direction of the bedroom. "You awake?”

  When there was no reply he tried a little louder. "Sam."

  Still no answer.

  With a sigh, he rose from the couch and lumbered into the bedroom. She wasn't there, but the bed was made up. The shorts and the shirt she'd borrowed the night before were laying on top of the comforter, folded.

  Alex started to call for her again, but the realization dawned on him. Samantha was gone. Somehow in the morning hours she slipped past him, through the living room, and out the door without waking him. After checking the bathroom, he wandered into the kitchen and dining area where he found a note under the salt shaker.

  Alex,

  I would be lying if I told you I didn't feel anything last night, because I did. But honestly, I'm not sure it was anything more than physical attraction. I know you think Washington is using me, but you're wrong. Who do you think took care of Coraco's surveillance cameras? I drugged his security guards so they couldn’t report us. It allowed me and you to get into his office without getting caught. And who do you think got your name on the invitation list for the party? I did. I had to sweet talk Coraco’s chief of security. I have to do what I have to do, and I’ve learned, I can do anything I set my mind to. There will always be a place for you in my heart. Good-bye.

  Sam,

  "How touching." Alex ground his teeth, crumbled the note in the palm of his hand and tossed it in the waste basket.

  25

  "What would you guys like to drink?" Alex directed the question to Wes, Agent Reed, and Agent Wilson. He left out the southern slang, ya'll, for obvious reasons. He wasn't in the mood to break their necks if they made fun of his Georgia roots. He held up a half gallon of orange juice from the open refrigerator. "Got coffee and O.J.”

  "I take my java black," Reed said. “You know that.”

  "How could I forget? What about you two?"

  "Orange juice will be fine." Wilson plopped into a chair at the kitchen table. "I could use the vitamin C."

  "Me too," Wes added.

  After Alex poured the drinks and passed them out, he took his seat at the table. The three agents had stopped off at a local bakery for some churros before heading to the villa to review the video and audio from Coraco's party. They all chowed down on the sugar coated dough treats that were shaped like swirled breadsticks.

  Alex finished eating first and turned to Wes. "Are we ready to take a look at the footage?"

  Wes removed a thumb-drive from the inside pocket of his jacket and said, "Where’s your computer?"

  With a sour face, Alex left the table and returned a minute later, laptop in hand. With the thumb-drive inserted and the video selected, the footage started up, prompting Wes to touch the screen over the play icon. It paused while loading, and then the previous night's action unfolded before their eyes.

  "Turn it up," Reed said.

  Wes used his finger on the embedded mouse pad and increased the volume until everyone could hear. On the screen, Alex entered the front door of Coraco's estate, checked out the great room and then the den.

  "Must've been amazing," Reed said. "That Spaniard is loaded. Got more money than any of us will ever dream of having."

  "Pipe down." Wes jabbed at the screen. "He's approaching Carmen."

  "Easy big guy," Alex knuckled Wes on the shoulder, "we haven't got to the good parts yet."

  "There's Coraco,” Wilson said. “He looked a little hot under the collar with you flirting with his woman.”

  The video played on. They watched and listened carefully as Alex approached Carmen a second time. After their brief conversation, the group of men observed as he made his way up the winding staircase, up to the balcony, and into Coraco's office.

  On the video, Alex hid under the desk. Then high heels clacked on the hardwood floor.

  Wes turned to Alex. "Who was that female friend of yours? You took off your bow tie to conceal her identity from us, but we could still hear the audio from your cuff-links. Who was she?"

  "Don't act like you don't know."

  "I haven't the foggiest clue. Who is she? CIA? I know she w
as an American by her voice." Wes turned down the volume.

  "If you don't know who she is, you'll have to talk to Washington about her yourself."

  In the video, when Alex placed the bow tie on the desk, wood grains appeared on the screen for a second before fading to black.

  "There's not much more to review at this point," Wilson said, grimacing, "just some audio of Coraco's guests. The only thing that's worth discussing is the names of his two friends, which are without a doubt British."

  "Well, that was enlightening." Reed backed away from the table. "I need to step out and grab a smoke. Chase breakfast with a Marlboro, but don’t worry, I’ll be back." He followed through with his intent, walked through the living room, and out the front door. Everyone frowned at his absence.

  “I didn’t know he smoked,” Alex said.

  “You haven’t been around him enough,” Wes replied. “But he’s good at hiding it.”

  "Wes...what were the names of Coraco's British gents?" Wilson asked, an attempt to get everyone back on track.

  "Pennington and Winslow."

  "I remember hearing the names from outside the window," Alex said. "Those cuff-links came in handy, picking up their conversation from the ledge for you guys to hear. But I wonder who Coraco was referring to when he spoke of a flight lieutenant getting his share? Maybe there's a link to the British military?"

  "Seems farfetched, but possible," Wilson said.

  Alex glanced at the video, which had continued to play as they talked. "Wait. There's more footage."

  Wes and Agent Wilson cut their eyes back to the screen. The short clip zipped by fast, so they rewound the feed and pressed pause. Coraco had picked up the bow tie and inadvertently turned the hidden camera toward the room’s occupants. Several men were in the office: two Caucasians, an Asian, a Spaniard, and Coraco himself. Then there was another gentleman present as well, but most of his face and body was cut off by the edge of the frame. But even with so little to go on, it was easy to see his dark complected skin. Alex pondered what nationality he might be. South American? Maybe Brazilian? Or maybe he was from India? Or the Middle East?