Say It Again (First Wives)

by Catherine Bybee

  “Who was Reed talking about?”

  “No one.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “You’re smart, sweetheart.” The last thing she was going to do was tell AJ Geoff’s name. “It’s unrelated to your sister.”

  AJ sighed, his voice softened. “Watch your back.”

  She hesitated. “I always do.”

  She hung up and kicked over the bike.

  Chapter Eleven

  Instead of using her all-access bracelet to wander around the school after everyone else had gone to bed, Sasha went about it the old-fashioned way.

  The security system had been given a few more cameras since she graduated, but working around it proved just as easy for her now as it had then.

  The college dorms would be the first place the faculty would have looked when it came to finding contraband.

  Which was why the high school seniors and college age students preferred to use the primary students’ building. The younger kids could sleep through anything and most often went to bed much earlier than anyone else on campus.

  Sasha stood the risk of running into students, but the need was worth the gamble.

  Each graduating class made a point of providing new tech to the incoming senior class, ensuring that the technology was current and wouldn’t be outdone by whatever Linette and her security team could come up with.

  All Sasha needed to do was find the room the seniors were using and tap into their computer.

  The basement was a bust. The attic equally deserted.

  A storage room over the laundry facilities had been converted into a series of closets.

  Where the hell was it?

  Sasha passed from building to building in search of some clue. She stared up at the college dorms. “Least expected it.”

  She glanced at the administration building, the adjacent onsite housing.

  The sound of a stick breaking behind her made her freeze.

  “Are you lost?”

  Sasha’s sigh was pure relief. “Claire.”

  “You’re out late.”

  They looked at each other through the light of the moon. They were both dressed in black, their hair tied back. “The same can be said for you.”

  “Nothing good happens after midnight.”

  Sasha kept her voice low. “I’m not sure about that. Some of my best memories of this place happened when everyone else went to bed.”

  Claire regarded her for a moment. “It’s the only time we have complete privacy.”

  “Is that why you’re out now? Privacy?”

  She shook her head. “No. I’ve been following you.”

  Sasha had her doubts about that. She was better at noticing someone lingering nearby.

  “They stopped using the kiddie building three years ago. That’s what you’re looking for, isn’t it? The computer room?”

  Sasha stayed silent.

  Claire turned on her heel and led her to the back of the administration building. They pressed against the building and out of the line of sight of the motion detector lights that would pop on if they were spotted.

  Using some kind of electronic key fob, Claire opened a back door without setting off any alarms.

  They moved quietly to a stairway that led to the basement. A place Sasha couldn’t say she’d ever been in. After passing through two doors and securing both of them, Claire finally spoke. “This was a boiler room before they retrofitted the building with central heating and air. I’m surprised your class never found it.”

  “We never needed to.”

  Claire grinned. “We have two decoy rooms with old computers on campus. We know the staff is always looking.”

  Sasha smiled. “Good thing I’m not staff.”

  They passed through a third door and Claire turned on the lights. Two massive monitors filled one wall. The newest version of an Apple computer sat center stage.

  Sasha rubbed her hands together and sat behind the desk.

  “Why do you need this one anyway? You have access to the outside world,” Claire said as she leaned against a table.

  Sasha turned on the mainframe and typed a file name into the computer search. “Because what I want doesn’t exist outside. I’m just hoping all the previous data wasn’t lost through the years.”

  And from what was popping up on the screen . . . the senior class hadn’t failed her.

  Claire pulled a chair beside her and looked at the monitors.

  “What is all that?”

  “Code.”

  “Yeah, I guessed that, but for what?”

  The adult in Sasha battled with the former student. “Audio recording.”

  “Like a bug?”

  Sasha clicked into the feed into Linette’s office. “Kinda. Only it’s not through anything placed in the office but rather . . .” She typed in a password and turned up the volume for the computer speakers.

  Nothing.

  “Do you have the new administration Wi-Fi passwords?” she asked Claire.

  “Are you asking if I have obtained the off-limits codes that could land me in solitary if I’m caught with them?”

  Sasha leveled her eyes, lifted one manicured eyebrow.

  “Uppercase x, three, eight, lowercase z, hashtag, zero, uppercase o, the at sign, five.”

  Sasha typed in the password.

  “But rather what?” Claire asked.

  A slight hum in the line . . . and the sound of a clock ticking. Sasha looked around the boiler room to make sure there wasn’t a clock there that was picking up the sound. “The office itself . . .”

  She pulled up another window, one that would record.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Every computer has the ability to hear you, even if you don’t turn on the microphone. The technology is there. I devised a system to record once voices are heard. As long as the computer is turned on, I can hear what’s going on in the office.”

  “That sounds a lot more sophisticated than you make it out to be.”

  “It is. The firewalls keep me from gathering this information remotely. It only works while on campus.” Which was something she wanted to work on. Her days at Richter were coming to an end, but the information she needed access to was more than a simple conversation. What she needed was alumni names. And not just the ones found in the yearbooks.

  Those could be changed.

  Along with their birthdays and biological parents . . . apparently.

  Sasha never used her . . . less than legal hacking skills at Richter for anything other than adolescent pranks.

  Changing grades and obtaining tests before they were given was never a goal.

  Embarrass the staff, make a name for herself . . . those had been her objectives.

  What Sasha needed was a couple of hours.

  “That’s how you recorded Professor Neumann doing Nurse Palmer in the science lab,” Claire said with sly laugh.

  “I cannot confirm or deny that claim,” Sasha offered. Even though the memory of the day she’d replayed that audio during the equivalent of a fire drill, for the entire campus to hear, made her glow on the inside. Linette had no choice but to cut the entire PA system off and end the drill. When they managed to trace the recording, they found it on Neumann’s computer. Placing it on Nurse Palmer’s would have been a gamble. The woman didn’t always leave her computer on. Neumann, on the other hand, didn’t turn his off.

  He did after that day.

  In fact, Linette had changed policy and mandated that all office computers be turned off during fire drill days to avoid a repeat.

  Sasha had never been caught.

  “Are you going to tell me why you want to hear what’s going on in the headmistress’s office?” Claire asked.

  Sasha settled in and started to hack at Linette’s firewalls. “What do you think about Mr. Pohl?”

  “The creepazoid that follows you around?”

  Good definition. “Yeah, him.”

  “He makes me itch.”
>
  Sasha sat back while the computer ran through a few million numbers. “I break out when I see him, too. I’m not sure Linette knows the man she invited to recruit here.”

  “So why hack into her office?”

  “Because that is the only place I can. And since I’m meeting with him tomorrow, in her office, I wanted to hear any conversation that might be said before, or after, I’m there.”

  “You don’t trust her.”

  Sasha shook her head. “I don’t trust him.”

  “I heard he’s here to decide if he wants to hire you for some kinda spy job.”

  She paused. “Who said that?”

  “Students. Last year he offered one of the high school seniors on my floor a job. Denenberg was pissed.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. Rumor has it that he only is allowed to recruit college grads. Since Denenberg got in his face after our race the other day, I’m guessing that rumor holds some truth.”

  Sasha typed in another command, sat back. “Recruiting an eighteen-year-old for that kind of a job should be illegal. Denenberg was right to be angry.”

  “I don’t think twenty-one- or twenty-two-year-olds are a whole lot different. Especially when they’ve spent most of their life behind these walls.”

  “Yet the lure is there, isn’t it?” Sasha asked. “Especially for the long-term students of Richter . . .”

  “Like you and I,” Claire said.

  Brigitte’s conversation earlier that night rolled around in Sasha’s head. Pohl hired the emotionally vulnerable, yet talented in all the crime-worthy skills.

  “Yeah. Like us.”

  Instead of showing up early and sitting outside Linette’s office like a student preparing for a lecture, Sasha waited until the last second to walk through the administration doors and up to Linette’s assistant.

  The assistant smiled the second she noticed her and pushed to her feet. “They’re expecting you.”

  Sasha walked into Linette’s office, shoulders back, chin up . . . confident.

  Mr. Pohl sat across from Linette and stood when Sasha entered the room.

  “Good morning, Sasha,” Linette greeted her with a smile. That alone was a little off-putting.

  “Miss Budanov.” Pohl reached out a hand, which she accepted . . . then he leaned in for the way-too-familiar double kiss to the sides of her cheeks.

  Claire’s description of the man, creepazoid, surfaced.

  All the pleasantries that Sasha was desperately bad at mulled around in her head. Thank you for having me. I appreciate your time . . . none rang true. She settled for “Good morning.”

  She watched for any sign that the two of them knew they were being recorded. From this angle, she couldn’t tell if Linette’s computer was on.

  “Linette tells me that you’ve been enjoying your sabbatical here.”

  “Richter was my home for many years.”

  “Longer than the average student,” Pohl said.

  Obviously he knew her history with the school. Sasha wasn’t about to waste time with a meaningless amount of chitchat. “Tell me, Mr. Pohl . . . have I maintained my level of expertise, in all areas, enough to know what kind of job you have to offer?”

  Linette let out a single huff that passed as laughter. “I told you she wouldn’t waste your time with small talk,” she told Pohl.

  He wove his fingers together and rested them in his lap. “As a matter of fact, you have.” He then looked at Linette and nodded toward the door.

  “This is where I leave.” She pushed her chair back, reached for her robe. “I’ll see you both later.”

  Sasha didn’t question her leaving, just followed her with her gaze as she did.

  When the door closed behind her, Pohl stood, smoothed his dress coat, and tugged it down. “You were one of the most remarkable graduates from this school.”

  “And now?”

  “Even more so. Your sophistication and poise offers its own set of assets.”

  “Who do you work for, Mr. Pohl?”

  “Before we go there, I need you to understand that this conversation is strictly confidential. I asked that Linette leave so that we can keep this between us.”

  “Fine.”

  He smiled. “I’m a recruiter.”

  “I understand that. For whom?”

  “More than one organization.”

  “I’m listening.”

  Pohl took a couple of strides before turning and repeating the movement. “I hire agents, Sasha. When let’s say . . . a government, needs a high level of expertise and low visibility, they come to me.”

  Spies. “Which government?”

  “There are many—”

  “Who would be signing my check?” she interrupted.

  “You move straight to the point, don’t you?”

  “I don’t see the point in wasting time. I’m sure you’re a busy man.”

  His pacing began again. “The secure nature of the jobs I recruit for means they are not advertised on a job listing page. The individuals hiring would insist that you never tell anyone who you work for or what you do. Your checks come through me.”

  Sasha paused long enough to cross her legs and shift her body just enough to look at him directly. “You hire spies.”

  He paused, looked at her. “Intelligence is part of the job.”

  “I thought that was going to be your answer. What I find strange is how you go about it. Government agencies around the world start by further educating employees with criminal justice degrees, employees of the state department, FBI, CIA, BND here in Germany, British intelligence. The military recruits from their elite. Police officers move up to detectives. Yet you come to a school like Richter and offer positions to students who haven’t even lost their baby fat . . . why?”

  “Are you questioning my tactics?”

  All politeness left her tone. “Yes. I am. I’ve been away from Richter, and I’ve seen this world . . . governments . . . all areas of official departments, recruit at colleges. Spies? No. Not the kind that have an official job in a reputable agency. Unless there is something you’re not telling me.”

  Pohl’s smile faded. “There are people in this world that government-like agencies would love to remove. But often their own bureaucratic red tape stops them from even finding these people. When you work for me and the people I recruit for, your job will be anything from obtaining information, analyzing, spying, engaging . . .”

  “Removing.”

  Pohl hired assassins.

  “I didn’t say that,” he told her.

  Sasha kept a straight face. “You didn’t not say that either.”

  No words of denial told her she was right.

  He moved to the desk, leaned against it. “You could be part of a team responsible for making this world safer. Imagine being on the inside of stopping terrorists before they attack.”

  This guy was a piece of work. “And you recruit children for this job?”

  Pohl snapped his mouth shut. Their eyes locked.

  “Am I speaking to a child?”

  “No. And I’m not emotionally vulnerable enough to be blinded by the kind of life you’d have me lead.” Sasha uncrossed her legs and stood. “I’ve lived the first third of my life on the outside looking in. Watching but not truly participating. The last thing I’d want to do is have that lifestyle indefinitely.”

  A placating laugh escaped Pohl’s lips. “It sounds like someone has an overactive, almost childish, imagination.”

  Her expression hardened. “Don’t insult me.”

  Pohl met her granite stare with one of his own. “I want you on my team, Sasha. And will do just about anything to obtain your service.”

  His words smacked entirely too close to a threat. Brigitte’s comment about Pohl not taking rejection well was showing.

  “You can’t afford me.”

  Pohl crossed his arms over his chest, a slow smile reached his lips. “That’s unfortunate.”

  Sasha tur
ned to leave.

  At the door, he stopped her.

  “If you change your mind, or if, perhaps, your circumstances change . . . my offer stands.”

  Sasha walked from the office, not bothering to close the door.

  Chapter Twelve

  Sasha walked to the center of the courtyard. Surrounding her were all the educational buildings, the kitchen, and dining hall, with all the lower levels there to hide what Richter was all about from the outside eye.

  Students walked past her, rushing to class . . . talking among themselves.

  How many students had Pohl recruited in the past?

  How many young, innocent, yet talented kids took a job and found themselves stuck? She’d bet the bank that at least one of the women on AJ’s list was someone Pohl knew personally.

  She needed to leave. Analyze the data she’d managed to download the night before and find the links.

  Her phone, the one that hadn’t rung on campus in two days, buzzed in her back pocket.

  Not recognizing the number, she brought it to her ear. “Hello.”

  “Holy shit, Sasha, Creepazoid is a total douchebag.”

  Sasha lowered her voice. “Claire?”

  “He wanted to hire you to be a killer. You caught that, right?”

  Sasha looked around. Students rushed by. “You heard the conversation?”

  “All of it. That’s why I’m calling. The minute you left the room, he made a call. I only heard his side.”

  “Could you tell who he was talking to?” Linette, maybe?

  “No. But he said they needed to move on to plan B.”

  Plan B?

  “No details?”

  “Sorry. Like I said, I only heard one side of the conversation. Do you think he meant plan B to make you work for them?”

  Sasha noticed a clustering of gray clouds blowing over her. “You can’t make someone work for you . . .” Unless . . .

  “I’m glad you told him what to do with his job.”

  “Are you still in the boiler room?”

  “How do you think I called you? I don’t have a cell phone.”

  Sasha headed toward the kitchens. “Can you copy the conversation onto a drive and meet me outside the library in twenty minutes?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Perfect.” Sasha hung up and made her way to Brigitte’s classroom.