Operation Sheba

by Evans, Misty

  “What do you think our boy is up to?”

  Abby shrugged. “His usual motive for anything is to bring attention to his homeland and destroy infidels. If he’s traveling and recruiting again, he’s up to something bad, probably involving a target that gets him some attention. From the trail he’s leaving, I’d say he’s moving fast and heading our way. I’ll do some more digging and type up a report for you and Susan later today.”

  Michael had learned over the past year and a half to never underestimate the CTC’s top analyst. “I’d like to discuss this in further detail, but right now I need you to bring me up to date on the Israeli situation.” His attention wandered to her legs again. “Why don’t you bring those files”—he brought his gaze back up to meet hers—“with you to my office?”

  Michael left Langley at 10:36 for his briefing with the Intelligence committees. He took Susan with him. Five minutes later, Julia shut off her computer, turned her voice mail on and took off for D.C. too. Only she was visiting a much smaller, much less conspicuous part of town.

  The listing inside the door of Ace’s Mortuary informed Julia the funeral of R. J. Bellingham was in progress. It was the first time she’d ever been inside the converted Victorian. Ace was one of the few trusted contacts Conrad cultivated and used in the Washington D.C. and Arlington areas. A civilian who unknowingly provided useful information to Con on occasion and scored tickets for sold-out Knicks games regularly. Julia had never actually met him, only seen him from a distance years ago. She and Con had been home on a short leave at Christmastime and Ace had scored prized front-row tickets for Con. Julia had no idea the extent of Ace’s services, but she was determined to find out.

  Organ music and singing voices filtered through the closed doors off to her left. She passed the doors and looked for Ace’s office. At the end of a long hallway she found a kitchen and mudroom, but no office. Retracing her steps, she climbed the carpeted stairs across from the front door. The upstairs held three bedrooms. One had been converted into an office. Ace had his worn desk chair tipped back, his feet on the window ledge behind the desk. He was talking on a cell phone.

  Julia walked into the room, took a seat across from him in a barrel chair with gaudy red velvet upholstery. She cleared her throat and watched as Ace jumped. His feet hit the floor and he jerked around to see who was in the room with him. Julia smiled and gave him a little wave and almost laughed when his jaw dropped open.

  “Hey, man, I gotta call you back.” He snapped the cell phone shut before the person on the other end could reply.

  “You really should have a bell on your front door,” Julia said, still smiling. “Or an electronic buzzer to let you know someone’s downstairs. Less chance of them sneaking up on you.”

  Ace, still standing, stared at her. “That’s what Con—” He stopped, wiped a hand across his forehead. “Security system’s down. Buzzer don’t fly right now.”

  “Conrad could fix that for you.”

  “Shit.” Ace slipped the cell phone in the side pocket of his cargo jeans. “He all right?”

  “Conrad’s fine,” Julia said, studying the younger man. “Relatively speaking, anyway.” She sat forward. “How deep are you into this operation, Ace?”

  Ace seemed to consider sitting down in his office chair, but a glance at Julia and he chose to stand. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “But you know who I am.”

  “I know who you are. You’re Sheba.”

  “And you know what Conrad’s done to me.”

  Ace eyed her with suspicion. “I didn’t have nothing to do with that. All these years, I just delivered Solomon’s messages for him. To you. To Smitty, and back to him sometimes. That’s it.” Ace moved his hands in gesture. “Just a messenger.”

  Julia watched him for a moment, enjoying the fact he was so nervous. No telling what Con had told Ace about her. “You were following me this morning. I’d say you’re a lot more than just a messenger service.”

  Shaking his head, Ace swore under his breath. “I ain’t done nothin’ wrong.”

  Technically that was true and Julia found no value in threatening Ace, scaring him into helping her. It wasn’t her best option. Hearing the organ music below rise in a crescendo, Julia decided on a different approach. “It’s kind of fun, isn’t it?” She fixed her best smile on him again. “Playing 007?”

  Ace crossed his arms, but his posture relaxed a smidgen. He slouched against the wall behind him.

  She went on. “Conrad’s good at all that covert stuff. You could learn a lot from him. I did.” She shifted in her chair, crossed her legs and tried to look nonthreatening. “He trusts you and that’s nothing to sneeze at. Next he’ll have you tapping phones and videotaping suspects. And if you’re not careful”—she chuckled under her breath—“he’ll be signing you up for The Farm. You’ll be a legitimate employee of the CIA before you know it.”

  Dropping his arms, Ace eyed his chair. Thought for a moment. Looked back at her. “The Farm? That’s that place where they teach you spy mumbo jumbo, right?”

  Julia nodded, dropped her smile. “I bet being a mortician is hard, isn’t it? Long hours, sad people. Not a lot of excitement. Sort of a dead-end job. No pun intended.”

  One side of Ace’s mouth quirked up. He let himself sit in his chair. “It’s a community service for my brothers here, you know? My daddy did it, now I do it. Funerals are important in my community. Everybody wants to go out with a bang, even if their life wasn’t so good. But some days…” He shook his head and slid down in the chair. “Dead-end job is right.”

  Julia noticed Ace had dropped the casual vernacular he’d been using. She sympathized with a nod. “It’s a good cover, though. You might want to think about keeping it as your day job. Do a little spying on the side, like you did today.”

  Ace looked up at the ceiling. Scratched his chin. “Might not be so bad.”

  Julia let him think it over for a minute. “I’ve got something you could help me with,” she said offhandedly. She saw interest spark in his eyes as he dropped his gaze to her face. “That is, if you’re not too busy working for Solomon.”

  “I might have some free time.” Sitting up, Ace rocked his chair. “What do I have to do?”

  “I just need a little information. All you have to do is ask a certain person a few questions and feed the answers back to me. Without him knowing, of course. This is strictly top secret. And, you can be sure he’ll never even know why you’re asking. Think you can handle it?”

  “Sure.” Ace nodded. They shared a smile and were conspirators. “Who’s the person?”

  Julia leaned forward, her smile turning wicked. “Guess.”

  “You failed the polygraph.”

  For the second time that day, Abby sat across from Michael in his office. It was the end of another twelve-hour day and Michael was tired. He dangled his pen between his fingers and tried to gauge Abigail’s reaction to his news.

  There was no surprise, just an edginess that had been with her all day. She studied him with guarded eyes. “I’ve failed them before,” she said with forced neutrality. “You know they are less than sixty-percent accurate.”

  He scanned the sheet of paper in front of him for a moment before leaning back in his chair, feeling like the professor about to give his failing student a stern lecture. “I have to tell you I’m disappointed.”

  She shrugged indifference. He knew it wasn’t the first time she’d heard those words in her life, but it was the first time from him. “You failed a very serious question, Abby.”

  Refusing to meet his gaze, she remained detached. He waited for her denial. At the very least, he’d thought her analytical brain would want the complete picture and she would quiz him about what questions she had failed.

  Silence was all he got.

  “Let’s see.” He looked down at the paper again for reference and struggled to keep the smile off his face. “The question you failed was ‘Is your name Abigail Qui
nn?’”

  Silence again enveloped the room. She arched an eyebrow at him in disbelief. “I failed because I lied about my name?”

  “Dr. Passarti thought it was odd, which under normal circumstances it would be. He suggested I follow up with you.” This time Michael let his smile break free, and that seemed to coax a faint smile from her.

  “The polygraph machine is only as good as the operator running it,” she said. “In my professional opinion, Dr. Passarti is an idiot. Why don’t you hook him up to the box and let me ask him a few questions? I could start with his cross-dressing and work up from there.”

  “A little testy, are we?” he teased.

  Abigail folded her hands in her lap and worried the silver band with a fingertip. “I’m not being testy. It’s just…”

  “Just what?”

  A twist of the ring. “You know for years I lied about everything. I mean my whole life was a lie. And the psychologists and the polygraphers and everybody else around here would stroke out if they knew the things I did in that other life. Quite a few wouldn’t be too happy if they knew what I’m doing in this life either, functioning under an assumed name, hiding in the bowels of CIA headquarters, sleeping with you.” She looked up at him. “I don’t like other people sitting in judgment of me, Michael, and, quite honestly, some days I’m not sure what’s true and what isn’t.”

  Michael frowned. Abby was stressed out and it had little to do with her polygraph. “I didn’t think you gave a damn what other people thought and you shouldn’t. Your intelligence and analytical skills are a huge asset to the counterterrorism department. No one needs to know the details of your past. As far at the polygraph goes, like I told you before, you needed it to cover your butt.”

  She shifted in the chair and stared past him out the window. Finally she met his eyes. “I think the truth is I needed it in order to keep your trust.”

  He pushed his shoulders back into the chair and mentally debated the merits of continuing the current thread of conversation. Deciding it was pointless to rehash the trust issue, he instead decided to tackle a more urgent issue. “Any more ideas about what Ryan Smith is doing since his return to the States on Tuesday?”

  She looked away. “He’s probably doing the same things you are,” she said, her voice curt. “Eating, sleeping, working.”

  Abby’s averted gaze made Michael check himself. Her body language all day had been off. Something was definitely up and he wished he could read her mind. He studied her for a moment. “Working on what?” He kept his tone mild.

  She shrugged. “I told you he’s tracking the Agency’s mole.”

  Leaning over, Michael rested his elbows heavily on the desktop, rubbing a finger around the rim of the blue ceramic mug sitting there. Imprinted with the CIA logo, it was a leftover from an early ’90s administration. Did Abby know something about Smith that she wasn’t telling him? He picked up his pen again, worked it between his fingers. Direct questions weren’t getting him anywhere so he chose a different tactic. “I think someone was watching me with a scope this morning during my run.”

  Abigail’s gaze came back to his face, her eyes now showing concern at the turn of the conversation. “Someone watching you? Are you sure?”

  He nodded. Waited.

  “Who?”

  It was his turn to shrug. “Ryan Smith? Possibly the same person who’s bugged your apartment?”

  Abigail didn’t move.

  Michael stilled the pen. She knew something. Damn, why wasn’t she telling him?

  Loyalty. She wouldn’t tell him out of loyalty to Smith. Apparently that carried more weight than loyalty to him. He threw his pen down. “It’s unlikely,” he continued, suddenly wanting to change the subject, “but there is a possibility someone from your past is looking for you.”

  Her expression showed mild surprise. “I thought we were presuming I was safe here.”

  He locked eyes with her. “I never presume anything, Abby.”

  Twisting her ring, she sat silent again.

  “Up to this point,” he went on, “we’ve had no reason to believe you were being sought. But you and I both know it pays to be cautious. I want you to watch your back and report anything out of the ordinary. I’ve ordered your apartment and my house swept for bugs and I’ve requested personal round-the-clock surveillance for me during the next forty-eight hours. I’ll request it for you too if you want to be on your own this weekend or”—he watched her carefully—“you can spend the weekend with me.”

  She stopped twisting the ring and considered his offer. Then she narrowed her eyes slightly with challenge. “Why? Because you think you need to protect me, Stone?”

  He couldn’t miss the teasing tone and he felt himself relax. Maybe he was too tired, or too paranoid. Maybe Abby wasn’t hiding a thing. His mouth quirked in a half-smile. “Actually, Quinn, I was hoping you would protect me.”

  She grinned. “No problem, boss.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Arlington It was nearly dark. Julia killed the Audi’s engine, grabbed the dry cleaning out of the back seat and entered the apartment building. She breathed a sigh of relief once she was behind the door of her apartment. All was quiet and she leaned against the interior wall of the entryway, letting her shoulders sag.

  She’d gotten through a tough day without giving anything away. Now she needed to regroup before she headed to Michael’s. He was suspicious and watchful. She knew he’d picked up on her uneasiness, but she’d been able to bluff through his questions well enough she thought he’d chalk it up to her stressful workday.

  Spending the weekend with Michael would be another challenge but it would give her the opportunity she needed to hack into his computer and bug his house per Smitty’s instructions. Meanwhile, she had Ace primed and ready to wheedle info out of Con. If everything fell into place like she hoped, by Monday Michael would be in the clear and she would know who the real traitor was.

  Julia dropped her keys and iPod on the nightstand and hung the dry cleaning in her closet, turning around to find Conrad in the doorway. Her hand flew to her chest. “Jesus, you scared me. Sneaking up on people is a bad idea, you know. Could get you killed.”

  He ignored her jest, his intense gaze regarding her warily. “You’re late. I, we, were beginning to get worried about you.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m tired, but fine.” She shrugged off her jacket, avoiding his eyes. The memory of what had happened in her bedroom the previous night flashed through her mind. All she wanted to do was get changed, get the bugs from Smitty and get out of there. She needed to stay away from Con and his lips.

  “I take it you passed the polygraph.”

  “Actually, I failed one very important question. I lied about my name.” She snapped her fingers. “Dr. Passarti caught me on that one.”

  “Dr. Piss Ant is still there, huh?”

  She nodded and walked to her chest of drawers. “Who did you have watching Michael during his run to the lake this morning?”

  “Shit. Did Stone see him?”

  Taking out a T-shirt, she threw it on the bed and pulled the sweater off. She was in a hurry, Flynn or no. “He didn’t see anybody, but he knew someone was there. He thinks it was Smitty. Who was it?”

  “Ace.”

  She dropped the sweater on the bed and shot Conrad an incredulous look. “You let Ace do surveillance on Michael for you? What, are you nuts?”

  “I was busy this morning and I had to be sure Stone wasn’t rendezvousing with anyone.”

  “Has Michael ever rendezvoused with anyone on his runs?”

  “No.”

  No wonder Ace had been so nervous when she accused him of spying. He really had been. “You are nuts. Ace is not exactly stealth about his surveillance. I had no trouble spotting him following me this morning. The hearse was a dead giveaway.”

  “So he’s not a stealth machine. He is trustworthy and loyal, and he doesn’t ask questions. Right now, I don’t have too many loyal friends to
pick from when I need help.”

  Julia averted her gaze and undid the top button of her jeans. “Why were you and Smitty in London earlier this week?”

  Conrad watched Julia’s delicate fingers slip the button of her jeans open and felt his blood begin to pump faster. Jesus Christ, she was going to undress right in front of him. This was good.

  “We were watching Cari Von Motz.” He scratched the back of his head. “Are you going somewhere?”

  She rubbed her forehead with her fingertips. “Ace’s surveillance has Michael on alert, and before I knew you were living down the hall, I told him about the bugs in the apartment and car. He’s ordered the Office of Security to sweep this place and his so you better sanitize everything. He also called in the Keystone Kops for himself this weekend and offered me two choices: entertain one of them here or spend the weekend at his house. I’m going to his house so I can plant the bugs.” She pulled her camisole out of the waistband of her jeans. “Cari Von Motz?”

  He kept his focus locked on her face, but his brain still registered the rest of her. The choker that dangled a pearl between the tiny bones at the base of her throat. The white bra under the plain, pedestrian camisole. The form-fitting jeans she was now unzipping…

  Okay, maybe this wasn’t so good. He dropped his gaze to the floor, crossed his arms in front of his chest and leaned against the doorjamb.

  “Kramer and Durand were there that night. The night I officially died. I concocted a story to get them both there at that abandoned building and I blew them away with it. But I let Cari live. She was my link to Langley.

  “Smitty helped you get back to the States and under Langley’s protective wing. I had already set up a post here when you arrived. Smitty went back to Europe to start tracking down Cari. We thought we’d be able to get the evidence we needed from her, but she dropped out of sight. Five months ago, she turned up in London trying to get a job with the German embassy. Smitty disappeared from his position so he could shadow her constantly. We believed she was still in touch with her source from Langley and we didn’t want to lose her again.”