by HN Wake
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Untitled
TUESDAY
1
2
3
4
WEDNESDAY
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
THURSDAY
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
FRIDAY
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
SATURDAY
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
SUNDAY
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
Serpents in the City
HN Wake
Copyright © 2016 HN Wake
All rights reserved.
The Mac Ambrose books are stand-alone novels. Through the series, my intention is to intersperse novels from Mac’s history as an operative overseas. If you want to read in order, I recommend the following:
Ghosts in Macau: A Mac Ambrose Novella (over 12 years ago, Mac is in Hong Kong)
A Spy Came Home: Mac Ambrose Book 1 (present day, Mac is in the United States)
Deceits of Borneo: Mac Ambrose Book 2 (over 12 years ago, Mac is in Hong Kong)
Serpents in the City: Mac Ambrose Book 3 (present day sequel to A Spy Came Home, Mac is in the United States)
TUESDAY
Journalism still, in a democracy, is the essential force to get the public educated and mobilized to take action on behalf of our ancient ideals. — Doris Kearns Goodwin
When we come on earth, we come with the equipment of awareness. In a given moment we can encompass the whole past and project into the future and that is the common denominator of humanity. — Louise Nevelson, “The Double-Bind” in “Eight Artists Reply: Why Have There Been No Great Women Artists?” Artnews, Retrospective, June 2015.
1
New York, NY
At first, the unsettling ping was incorporated into Laura Franklin’s dream as the sound of the low-battery warning of a fire alarm, abandoned in the murky eave of a cobwebbed attic. Eventually the cell phone’s chime pierced her sleep, the shrill rippling through the bedroom. Blinking in the darkness, she reached toward the nightstand. The dim screen read ‘Eleanor Gillis’ and ‘3 a.m.’ US Senator Eleanor Gillis.
Taking a deep breath against the tightness in her lungs and the light pinch of anxiety, Laura answered the call. “What is it, Eleanor?”
“I’m in trouble.” Eleanor’s voice sounded odd.
Laura pushed herself up, whispered, “What’s up?”
“It’s uh…”
The pause went on for too long. “What kind of trouble?”
“Someone is blackmailing me.”
Laura’s mind snapped to attention. There had been blackmail attempts before. Blackmail came with the job, as did gossip, rumor, and slander. Most had amounted to nothing. But Eleanor wasn’t calling in the middle of the night about nothing. Laura swung her legs over the side of the bed, leaned her heavy waist over her hips, and got her bearings. The graze of the silk carpet was a fleeting luxury. “Okay, hold on.”
Light pooled through the door as she stepped from the warmth of the bedroom. The long hallway had been painted a light khaki and the floor under a red runner was a pale varnish. They had insisted the thin rug be the focus.
The 100-year-old Antique Persian Souf Kashan carpet was an expensive vacation purchase from a dealer in Marrakech. It had been their first vacation in ten years and they had mistakenly stumbled into a local spice market, two heavyset black women in sleeveless dresses. The men started to whistle, as if commanding dogs. Despite their fear, the two women pushed on. The whistles turned to menacing jeers, echoing through the stalls as they hurried—careful not to break into a jog—through the narrow alleyways. The market sellers pressed their noses flat, mocking the women’s ethnicity. Up ahead, a carpet store with large arched doors and a painted English sign appeared as an oasis against the anger and prejudice. They had only discussed the incident once. There was nothing more to add to the well known, dog-eared history lessons of bigotry.
The thin red rug, now pride of place along the second floor hallway of their new townhouse on the Upper West Side, muffled Laura’s footfalls. A row of sconces cast halos of light down the hall.
“What are they blackmailing you with?” Laura asked.
“There’s a video.”
Had Eleanor just said video? Her hand paused on a 75-year old brass doorknob. They had looked at a hundred similar doorknobs, but this unique one had been sent by courier from Belgium. “What kind of video?”
“A sex tape.”
The hard knob froze. She wanted to go back to the warm bed, close her eyes, and forget this call. What if she just hung up? What if she let Eleanor deal with the shrapnel of her own bad decisions? “Who…what’s on the tape?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t seen it.”
Laura stepped into the darkness of her office—a movement she had done hundreds of times in the past two months——and flicked on the desk lamp the designer had found in an antique shop in Maine. She was proud she had a designer, hand selected doorknobs, and a new house on the Upper West Side. She was proud of her moxy. It annoyed her greatly that Eleanor fucking Gillis didn’t have the same determination. “Do you think it’s legit?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“They…,” Eleanor’s breath stuck. “They know the time and the location.”
“Which were?”
“Twelve months ago. In a hotel in Philly. Senate recess. Just one night. At the Four Seasons.”
The soft leather desk chair creaked as Laura sagged into it. “Unbelievable.”
“I know.”
“I mean, truly unbelievable, Eleanor. After all we’ve been through.” Her hand flattened against the walnut of the huge desk. It was the hand that built the company, that worked tirelessly to afford them this house, this desk, that rug, and it was the hand that was now up at three taking this call.
“I know. I don’t know what to say.”
“It’s so predictable. So cliche.”
“I know.”
“After all we’ve done. Even after Guilty Gillis.” It was a deliberate reference to a painful memory.
Eleanor sniffed sharply. “You didn’t need to say that.”
“Didn’t I?”
“That was a long time ago.”
“All the branding work, all the money. Comeback Gal Gillis. Accepting responsibility. Learning from mistakes. Bolder, wiser, ready to clean the system.” They were the tag lines expensive consultants had crafted for Eleanor’s public redemption. “I mean, come on, we chose those together. Career above self. Happily married. Courageous woman.”
“I know.”
“How hard
is it to just keep your eye on the ball?”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“Does James know?”
“No. He has no idea.”
“Where is he?”
“Back in Philly.”
“You’ll have to tell him.”
“I know. I will.”
Laura leaned back against the chair and stared at the ceiling, damping down indignation and focusing on the problem. A CEO taking control of a crisis. Eleanor Gillis was a long time friend and her continued success was imperative. “How did the blackmailer reach out?”
“Via an email.”
A silver clock squatting on a huge, marble mantle chimed. “When did it arrive?”
“Five hours ago.”
“What have you been doing since ten o’clock?”
“I don’t know. Pacing. I lost track of time. I don’t know…”
Fingers tapped rapid fire on the desk. “I may have someone.”
“On your security team?”
“I am not involving my business with this.”
“But we need someone we can trust implicitly. We need someone we know won’t abuse the video if they get it back.”
“Eleanor, it’s not going to happen.” Fingers continued to tap. Laura’s restlessness could be a torment, like a sheep dog incessantly driven to look for holes in a fence. “But I know someone.”
“Who?”
“I can’t tell you the details. She fixed something recently.”
“Another woman?”
“Yes. It’s a woman.”
“Do you trust her? I mean really trust her?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. Please. I need her.”
“We need her.”
“We have to do something. Laura, I could--”
“You don’t do a thing. The last time you tried to fix something it imploded.”
“I know,” Eleanor whispered. “I am sorry.”
“You damn well should be. We have a lot riding right now.”
There was a long pause.
Eleanor asked, “How do you know this person?”
“She and I go way back.”
“That’s exactly who we need, someone you can trust.”
“But she may not take it.” Laura couldn’t decide if she should go make coffee or try to go back to sleep.
“Why not?”
“She’s got personal stuff going on. Settling in. Transitioning into a new life. Let me see what she says when I reach out to her.”
“Thank you, Laura.” Eleanor’s voice was tinged with hope, a lone shipwreck survivor just spotted by a rescue plane.
“I can’t promise anything. This is the last thing she needs right now. She’s tough and smart. Frankly, if I were her, I would say no.”
2
Philadelphia, PA
Using a spoon she had found in the third drawer, Mac Ambrose scooped two full tablespoons of coffee grinds into the old coffee maker’s filter and turned on the machine. Through the back window, the smell of fresh cut grass floated on a breeze, mixing with the newly released scent of scorched earth. The green lawn, the fruit trees lining the far side, and the flower beds against the ancient brick wall were a scene reminiscent of a secret garden in the heart of Philadelphia. A tiny white butterfly flitted past the window. It felt like a dream.
She sat down at the raw wood table, the coffee maker gurgling from the counter. A bowl was piled high with fresh organic fruit—bright oranges, huge grapefruit, and fuzzy peaches—not the toxic produce you got in Hong Kong. Two days ago, she had gone to Whole Foods and spent $100 on fruit. Two days ago.
From the third floor, she heard the tapping of a dog’s toenails across the bedroom’s wooden floor then the rat-tat-tat as the dog rumbled down two flights of stairs. She stood and opened the glass door to the back garden just as Joseph Severino’s dog Junior bound past her. As she was pouring a coffee, Joe’s footsteps rapped down the stairs and she smiled in anticipation.
Two days ago, Joe had become a part of her life again. After years apart.
He stepped behind her, wrapped his arms below her chest, pushed his scruff into her neck, and took a deep breath of her. “How’d you sleep?”
She squeezed his forearms. “Amazing.”
“Good.”
A former athlete, Joe moved through the kitchen with light, precise steps, fit legs extending from boxers and broad shoulders under a t-shirt, as he fixed himself a coffee and eyed the dog out the window. Unencumbered by a need to impress anyone, he was soft-spoken, observant, and the most self-contained, complete person she had ever known. As if all the ancient secrets of calm presence had been instilled in this one man.
Junior raced past the door.
She leaned on her elbows. “How long have you had him?”
“Three years. I rescued him, but you know what they say.” He sipped, his mind still groggy.
“What do the they say?”
He leaned back against the counter as his blue eyes took her measure. “That dogs rescue you.”
Her gaps of knowledge about American pop culture had crept into their conversation the past two days. She had been away twenty years. It was a long time.
“It’s nice having a dog.”
He sat opposite her. “I’ve got some orders coming in that could be really big. I might have some long days this week and next.” Joe had taken over his father’s company in town.
“No problem.”
“What are your plans for the day?”
“More walks with Junior?” she said sheepishly. “Nice and slow.”
“I don’t want to scare you, so I’ll give you another month before I admit that dog is officially more in love with you than he ever was with me.”
What they had was so recent that any reference to permanency gave her a pleasant shock. She grinned. “Fine, I’ll wait for you to tell me that.”
“You doing okay?” His concern was real.
She nodded.
“Mac, there’s nothing wrong with taking some time off. Some down time.”
“I’m just not used to it.”
“But wasn’t your job a lot of down time and waiting?”
The heavy reality of her world interrupted the weightlessness of the morning and she struggled to find words. “I feel…untethered. Like I’m floating around in the universe. Usually I have a purpose, some plan. I’m not used to working without a plan.”
“How long since you checked in with them?” He meant the Agency.
“Officially?”
He nodded.
“About a month ago. I was out in the field for them one day, then I was home. I just slipped off their radar.”
“You came home for that other op?”
“The one for the girls.” Frieda, Penny, and Laura were close friends from high school. They were the only people outside this kitchen that knew she was back in the US.
“Because they asked you? They wanted you to come home and do an op for them, and you did.”
Yes, she nodded.
“And you did it successfully.”
She had told him about it last night. The girls had asked her to take down the gun lobby in time for new legislation to pass. She had. The legislation had passed.
“How’d that feel?” he asked.
“Really good. It was liberating. Gratifying. It was nice to do something for me, not the Agency.” She eyed him. “I had other things I was doing also.” She had been surveilling him. It had taken all her courage to finally approach him. Two days ago.
The grin wrinkled the skin around his blue eyes. “I’m glad you did.”
“Me too.”
In the corner of the yard, the dog started digging. Just beyond the window, a bird chirped.
He returned to the original subject. “So, do they know you’ve left them?”
“Yes. I think they do.”
“Shouldn’t you just tell them?”
“It’s not that easy.”
“Why not?�
��
Agonizing memories rushed the room. Her voice was small. “You don’t just quit the Agency. Better to escape. On your own terms.”
“I get it. I do. You’ll be fine. It just takes time. You’ll find your way.”
They had begun creating a shared language and she smiled. “I’ll find my way.”
“Just keep saying that.”
“Roger that, doc.”
He set about toasting bread. “What are you thinking about dinner? Somewhere special?”
“Sure, I’ll find us something—“
On the table, a cell phone vibrated.
He glanced at her. “Who could that be?”
“One of the girls.” She picked it up slowly.
Fifteen minutes later, she returned, pausing in the kitchen doorway.
Joe looked up from the newspaper. “Who was it?”
“Laura.” Laura Franklin, her billionaire friend.
“What did she want?”
“She needs me to fix something.” Something about the request had intrigued Mac. Just when she was feeling untethered, an assignment had been suggested.
“What something?” He set down the paper.
“She’s friends with a US senator. A woman senator from Pennsylvania. This senator is in trouble. She’s being blackmailed. For a sex tape.”
“Whoa. Who does that? What kind of person blackmails a senator? With a sex tape?”
“Right? Someone creepy, someone low on a rung.”
“What does Laura want you to do?”
“She wants me to meet with the senator. Hear what she has to say.”
“What did you say?”
She probably should have said no, but something about the senator’s predicament had drawn her in. “That I’d be at the senator’s house this afternoon. Just to hear her out.”
“You sure you don’t want to just say no? Take some time for yourself?” He read the answer on her face. “You’re thinking this may be an interesting diversion?”
Yes, that’s exactly it. “Yeah, maybe.” Maybe this small assignment was just the thing to help her transition back home.
“I hear that. As long as it’s not dangerous.”