Operation Sheba

by Evans, Misty

Julia’s heart hammered. A tickling urgency was tightening the muscles in her stomach. She didn’t have hours, that she was sure of. And she didn’t want to run into Susan if she could avoid her.

  As she stared at the doorknob, Julia’s fingers toyed with a listening device in the pocket of her jacket. She knew the code to open Susan’s door. She had figured out the code to Michael’s too. It had been nothing more than a game to her before today, and she’d never seriously considered using the codes. They changed them every few months, and it didn’t take a member of the Geek Squad to figure it out. Shifting her feet, Julia let her gaze go up and down the hallway, acting as if she were simply waiting for Susan to return. Could she bug the CIA’s counterterrorism director’s office and get away with it?

  Of course she could bug Susan’s office, the real question was, should she bug Susan’s office? No matter what the reason behind it, bugging any office in this agency was a serious breach of conduct, sure to earn her an immediate dismissal…

  Taking a deep breath, Julia cut her eyes left and then right to check again if anyone was nearby. Seeing the coast was clear, she pressed her fingers to the coded key entry. The doorknob turned free and Julia felt cool air from the fan touch her face as she entered the office.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Here there be dragons, Julia thought, remembering the warning of ancient maps, as she opened the file drawer of Susan’s desk. Scanning the tab headings, she pulled out four folders and spread them on the desktop. Two were bulky, their dull camouflage-green covers worn and nearly falling apart. They were labeled as the official personnel files of Ryan Smith and Conrad Flynn. After a moment’s hesitation, she decided she dared not open either for fear of losing herself in information. The other two folders were slim and had nice, new covers. One was labeled Julia Torrison/Abigail Quinn, the other Operation: Sheba.

  Her hands shook as she slipped the listening device from her pocket and secured it under Susan’s desk. After activating it, she returned her attention to the file with her name on it and used a fingernail to carefully lift the cover. The first page was her bio and a black and white headshot of her. She flipped to the next page. Scanning the text, she realized it was a greatly edited version of her career in the CIA. No mention of the official covert operations she’d worked in Europe or her partnership with Conrad. In two brief pages, her time as an employee at the American Embassy in Paris and her return to Langley was summarized in cold, bureaucratic language.

  Behind the last page was a collection of memos stuffed in the file folder’s back pocket. Julia scanned the first one dated October 2006, a month after Flynn’s death and her return to CIA Headquarters. It was from Susan Richardson to Benito Raines.

  Initiate random surveillance checks on Abigail Quinn immediately. Currently appears emotionally unstable. May reach out to family or close friends. I am concerned about breaches of security…

  Benito’s reply was dated three weeks later.

  Chief/CTC: No security breaches witnessed. Subject sticks to routine between work and apartment. Has not contacted anyone outside of headquarters with exception of brother, Eric. Discussion centered around his two children…

  The next memo came again from Richmond, five months later.

  Quinn has begun relationship with DO. National security issues at risk. Per DDCI’s request, investigate discreetly and advise me of improper conduct by either party.

  The papers trembled in Julia’s shaking hand and a chill ran over her body. Damn. Jurgen Damgaard, the Deputy Director of the CIA, and Ben Raines knew about her relationship with Michael. Worse, Susan had them suspecting her of pumping him for classified information.

  Plan A, Julia told herself.

  She flipped to the next memo, this one again from Raines.

  Chief/CTC: DO continues to be discreet with operational matters when Torrison visits. There is occasional pillow talk, but nothing damaging to the Agency or national security. Audio is available for your review.

  Pillow talk? Audio is available? Was Raines listening to her and Michael in bed? Nice. While it was doubtful Raines could have bugged Michael’s house, he did have access to directional microphones and had had Jurgen Damgaard’s okay to use them. Wait ’til Michael found out about that.

  Julia pulled the memos out, rolled them and stuck them in the back of her waistband. As long as she was burning bridges by illegally bugging her boss’s office, she might as well steal a few pieces of classified material as well.

  She carefully pushed the folder over and looked at the cover of the next one. Operation: Sheba. Julia felt the hair on the back of her neck rise. Was this more of Plan A?

  Again using a well-manicured fingernail, she opened the folder and began to read.

  The chill of trepidation froze her blood.

  Ace’s Mortuary

  “Still nothing?”

  Smitty shook his head and cracked his knuckles. “Nothing. All I get is static. Either she hasn’t installed any of the listening devices yet or she installed them incorrectly.”

  Conrad started pacing again, but this time it was across cold, hard linoleum. The basement of Ace’s Mortuary was not exactly the Taj Mahal, but it worked better than the back of a van for cover and it was closer to CIA headquarters and Stone’s house than Julia’s apartment building. The only thing he couldn’t stand was the smell.

  “Julia knows how to plant a bug.” Conrad wished he had a cigarette to burn and block the smell of antiseptic and embalming fluid. Wished he hadn’t let the woman he loved take off on her own. Wished that just one of the freakin’ bugs would start transmitting so he didn’t have to say out loud and confirm what they all were thinking. Julia wasn’t following through with her part of the plan.

  She’d said she was going to Stone’s place and then she’d gone to Langley. Conrad didn’t know what she was doing and when he called her cell phone all he got was her voice mail. Her phone was off. She hadn’t performed an undercover operation for years and while part of him believed she could handle anything that went down, another was totally freaking out that she was in danger.

  And he was the person who’d put her there after spending the last seventeen months trying to keep her safe.

  “Y’know what I don’t get, Connie?” Ace said, spinning himself around on one the ancient medical stools he had managed to steal somewhere along the line. “Doesn’t Big Mike think it’s weird his girlfriend sleeps in your underwear?” He stopped to shoot an inquisitive look at Flynn.

  Conrad let his head fall back on his shoulders and wished he’d never shared that bit of trivia with his newest partner. He gave careful consideration to yelling, I don’t give a damn what Big Mike thinks, but realized, as he looked over at the twenty-eight-year-old mortician, that he wasn’t joking or teasing with Conrad. As always, he was totally sincere.

  Conrad swallowed the yell and shrugged. Now that he thought about it, it was kind of weird. But what struck him as even weirder was that his underwear had actually fit Julia. Sure it had seemed a little loose around the waist, but… She must have shrunk them.

  He walked over to look out the ground-level window, wishing again he’d followed her. Wishing he’d hid himself in the car with her. Wishing she hadn’t changed the game plan without telling him why.

  The receiver popped behind Smitty and all three men jumped, turning to look at it. In the dead silence of the mortuary’s basement, they heard the sound of a small motor and then the quiet shuffling of papers. Smitty hit the Record button on the nearby tape deck and turned to Conrad with a lifted eyebrow.

  That’s my girl, Conrad thought with relief. She’d bugged an office at Langley. Susan’s office, no doubt. He felt a stab of pride and then the fear for her returned. Now get the hell out of there, Jules, before I stroke out.

  There was no absentmindedness this time as Julia sped by the cubicles of her coworkers, exited the CTC department and hurried through the rest of the building.

  Taking the stairs down to the parking gar
age two at a time, she hit the heavy door, throwing it open.

  A minute later, as she wheeled the Audi out of the main level, Julia didn’t see Susan Richmond’s level gaze following her from the basement door.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Senator King accepted the blue Central Intelligence Agency mug full of hot coffee from Susan Richmond and followed her statuesque form across the lobby and down the hallway. Even though the area was empty, conversation between them was sparse and dealt with the usual benign issues such as the weather and their latest round of golf. While it certainly appeared that no one was within earshot, Daniel couldn’t get over the feeling of being watched and listened to, and it wouldn’t do for someone to overhear the reason he was paying CIA Headquarters a visit today. While he had walked the building’s hallways many times over the past few years, Daniel had never stopped feeling the edge of disquiet that existed here. Even now, acid sat in the pit of his stomach and he knew he didn’t need the jolt of caffeine from the coffee he was carrying to jumpstart his nerves. The building itself was as normal as any he’d been in, but there was no mistaking the eerie feel of Spookville.

  King mentally chastised himself over his unease as he and Susan entered the CTC and nodded to a few of its employees as they passed the sterile cubicles. He had every right to be here, was a part of it in his own way. But just like his first day as a freshman senator, he stood watching from the fringes in awe, like a foreigner who didn’t quite speak the language or understand the customs.

  Running his left hand through his hair, he tried to bring his mental focus back to the task at hand. He had to admit to himself it wasn’t just the surroundings making him uneasy. He was about to sign off on the biggest operation of his career.

  As usual, the Senator was going to have to negotiate to effect the outcome of the operation in his favor. In this case, as with many of the favors he had extended in the past, he needed the ability to take credit if the operation was a success while maintaining distance and anonymity if the operation failed.

  It was an almost impossible feat to pull off.

  Almost.

  “Please come in and have a seat,” Susan said as she held the door open to her office and gestured Daniel through.

  “Thank you, Susan.” He set his coffee on the only clear spot near the edge of her desk and unbuttoned his sport coat before sitting down.

  Switching the fan on the file cabinet off, Susan pulled out her chair and sat at her desk. She looked at the man across from her, feeling a surge of excitement. Her goal was so close she could almost reach out and touch it. “This is an unexpected visit. I assume it has to do with our plan?”

  The Senator nodded, steepling his fingers in front of him. His voice was firm but non-aggressive. “Your plan is sound, but there is one small…” he paused, searching for the right term, “…adjustment to it I need before I can give you the go ahead.”

  Susan smiled. Of course. Daniel King was the supreme negotiator and she had learned a lot from studying him over the years. Everything was negotiable according to the good senator and she agreed. Everything was negotiable, especially when she held the trump card.

  Conrad was listening to Susan Richmond talk to the Democratic senator, Daniel King, but it took him a minute to figure out what they were talking about.

  Ace and Smitty were staring at him. He stared intently at the receiver. “Don’t ask me.” He shook his head at his partners. “Just be sure you’re getting everything on tape.”

  Smitty nodded and both he and Ace returned their gazes to the receiver as they heard Susan’s voice again. “Adjustment? You said you were ready to sign off on Operation: Sheba.”

  Conrad sat up a little straighter and frowned. What the hell?

  His friends’ stares turned to him again, curiosity mingled with the first inklings of fear. Something here wasn’t right and it didn’t have anything to with Julia changing the game plan.

  And yet apparently it had everything to do with Julia.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Arlington Lunch was over. The remnants of grilled butterfly pork chops, baked potatoes and spinach salad decorated their plates. Julia tossed a section of trimmed fat to Pongo. The dog snapped it out of the air and sucked it down in a gulp.

  “I could use a walk,” she said to Michael, unsnapping her jeans. “As usual, you overfed me, but I enjoyed every bite.”

  He’d been on the quiet side, but hadn’t said or done anything to make Julia think he was suspicious of her recent actions or mad because she’d run out on her meeting with Ben Raines. Over lunch, they’d talked about normal things…the latest e-mail virus, a gossipy scandal involving a senator and his aide, and a trip Michael was scheduled to make to London in the fall. “We could walk to the lake.”

  “A walk to the lake sounds wonderful,” Julia said.

  They left the dishes on the table, and Michael pulled an old Marine sweatshirt of his off a hook in the mudroom for Julia to wear. He threw on one that matched, right down to the faded letters and the holey pockets. They set off with Pongo running ahead and Michael’s security detail keeping some distance behind.

  “Did Raines find something here yesterday when he searched your house?” Julia asked as they followed the trail Michael ran six days a week.

  “No, the house was clean.”

  “But you’re still keeping extra security?”

  Michael shrugged indifferently. “I’m supposed to have them around the clock. Usually I choose not to.”

  “So why is Brutus following us?”

  “His name is Brad.” Another shrug. “Things still feel off.”

  Julia understood that feeling quite well.

  They walked in silence for a mile or so and Julia tried to enjoy the fresh spring day. The grass was green again and pink blossoms on the wild apple trees dotted the area.

  Michael threw a stick for Pongo to fetch. “You know about the journalist the insurgents took hostage three days ago in Iraq?”

  Julia had seen the information on a daily brief that had passed over her desk. She summarized what she remembered. “Female, works for CNBC, covering Iraq war in Baghdad. She went out on her own instead of sticking with the army unit she was covering and got nabbed. Insurgents want two prisoners released in the next forty-eight hours or they’ll behead her.”

  Michael watched Pongo. “She’s not a journalist. She’s one of ours.”

  She kicked at a clump of grass. “Damn. Are we going after her?”

  “We’re in negotiations but Jeffries won’t give the presidential okay to go after her. They’re afraid she’ll be exposed as a CIA operator and we’ll get blowback from it.”

  “So you’ve technically lost another agent.”

  He rubbed his forehead as if he had a headache. “Titus is on his way back from Florida. He wants to meet with me this evening.” He glanced at her. “I think I’m about to be fired.”

  Julia stopped in her tracks. “What?”

  “This was the last straw.” He stopped too, but kept his gaze on Pongo. “Losing all these operators not only makes the U.S. look bad, it makes Titus look bad. He needs to put blame somewhere and I’m it.”

  “But it’s not your fault.”

  Michael shot her a look. “Isn’t it?”

  “No,” she said. “It’s not.”

  “Then who’s to blame, Abby, if not me? I’m the Director of Operations. I’m the man in charge.”

  He started walking again and Julia wrestled with her conscious. She wanted to tell him, wanted to hand him the disc and papers she had stolen, but she had to start the ball rolling with Susan if she was going to make her case airtight.

  So she shoved her hands in the pockets of Michael’s jacket and followed him to the lake in silence. Now she knew why he had sounded weird on the phone and had been exceptionally moody the past few days. It wasn’t all due to the fact Smitty had reappeared or her own odd behavior. This made her breathe easier, and at the same time, knowing Michael was a
bout to be fired for Susan’s tricks, her breath seemed too thick inside her chest.

  The air around the lake was chilly and Julia was grateful for the bulky warmth of the sweatshirt. She pulled its hood up over her head. Clouds were moving in from the west and it looked like a spring rain might be on the way. She watched Michael chase Pongo in and out of the water a few times, but she could see his heart wasn’t in it. They turned back to the house without walking the perimeter of the deep lake.

  “If you leave the CIA,” she asked when they were halfway back to the house, “what will you do?”

  Michael ran a hand through his hair and looked at the clouds gathering on the horizon. “A few months ago, the NSA offered me a job. I might look into it.”

  “The National Security Agency offered you a job and you didn’t tell me?”

  “When it came up, I wasn’t interested. I like what I do, you know that. Since I’ve been at the CIA, I’ve never considered anything else. Now, I may have to.”

  “Who will take your place?” She already knew the answer.

  “Susan most likely.” A nerve jumped above his temple. “She’s been with the Agency longer than I have and has quite a lot of experience recruiting and placing operators. She’s always wanted my job, and she’s the best candidate.”

  Julia refrained from comment even though anger was spreading through her veins.

  “Director Stone,” the security officer called to Michael. As Julia turned, she saw Brad picking up his pace to reach them. She instinctively moved closer to Michael and scanned the area nearby looking for a threat.

  Michael had tensed too at the man’s call. “What is it?”

  Brad held up his walkie-talkie. “Front gate says Susan Richmond is asking for admission.”

  Michael glanced at Julia, and she felt her stomach tighten. It was as if the mention of Susan’s name had conjured her out of thin air.

  Not knowing the danger she represented, Michael relaxed. He glanced at the house, fifty yards away. “Tell them to let her in.”