“And let’s not call the client anything but the client,” Paoletti added. “They like it better that way.”
“Especially since you haven’t got your Cone of Silence up and working,” Jimmy said with a deliberate glance around the room, letting Paoletti know that he, too, hadn’t yet decided if he was going to climb in bed with the former SEAL. So to speak.
Paoletti laughed, getting both the Get Smart reference and Jimmy’s unspoken message, which was another point in his favor. “Yeah, well, we moved into this office two months ago and I haven’t had time to hire a receptionist, let alone set up some kind of shielded room.” He included Deck in the conversation. “I’m turning work away, Chief—I can’t keep up with the demand. Lot of people traveling overseas want an armed escort these days. Even domestically, there’s a huge call for additional security, evacuation plans, that type of assignment. And those are just the corporate clients. But this job . . . this one’s important. The client can’t send in their own, um, employees—the U.S.–K-stani relationship has deteriorated beyond repair and if those employees were discovered, there could be real trouble. I don’t think that’s news to either of you.”
It wasn’t. It had been more than three years since Jimmy had gone into K-stan with Decker on an Agency assignment. “And yet someone eliminated Sayid,” he commented.
“No. Mother Nature eliminated Sayid. His death was from internal damage, believed to be caused by a collapsing building,” Paoletti informed them. “He apparently crawled free and found his way to a hospital before he died. We have no idea where he was at the time of the quake, or if his laptop is still there in the rubble. Even if it is, it could be destroyed or damaged.”
“Which hospital?” Deck asked.
Paoletti shook his head. “We don’t even know that.”
Deck glanced at Jimmy, who sat forward to look more closely at the two pictures of Sayid. They were both the same photograph, but one had been cropped and enlarged so that the terrorist leader was in close-up. The original shot showed a long line of injured people in makeshift beds, really no more than pallets on the floor, in an ornately tiled room being used as a temporary hospital ward.
“This is the lobby of the Hôpital Cantara,” Jimmy told Decker. “Near Kazabek’s City Center.” He glanced at Paoletti, resisting the urge to bat his eyelashes. So do you love me yet?
“You’re that certain?” the former SEAL CO asked.
“I went there a few years back to get some stitches,” Jimmy told him.
Paoletti lifted an eyebrow. “I thought you Agency types were like the SEALs and stitched yourselves up.”
“In my large intestine,” Jimmy added. He often got dinged up out in the field, a result of playing hard and rough, but that time he’d been stabbed.
I can’t believe you call getting stabbed “dinged up.” Tess Bailey’s voice echoed in his head from that night, two months ago. He’d answered, There’s a big difference between getting dinged and stabbed. She hadn’t believed him, but it was true.
The barely noticeable ding Jimmy had gotten on the night Tess had helped him keep Decker from being gunned down in the parking lot of the Gentlemen’s Den was very different from the injury that had brought him to the Cantara hospital.
He’d been jumped. Three to one—odds he normally wouldn’t have blinked at, but one of ’em had a knife that Jimmy hadn’t seen until it was almost too late. He’d stopped the blade from going into his chest, instead catching it lower, in his gut.
That had hurt. But it hadn’t killed him. It had warranted that trip to the hospital, though. Which was serendipitous, since he could now give a positive ID to the location of Sayid’s body.
“I sat in that lobby for ten hours,” Jimmy told Paoletti. There had been that many people there who were more seriously wounded than he was. It was just another night in Kazbekistan. He tapped the picture. “This is L’Hôpital Cantara. No question in my mind.”
Paoletti nodded. “I’m putting together a team,” he said, “to enter Kazbekistan as earthquake relief workers, and to find and extract Sayid’s laptop.”
Decker nodded, too. “Who’s your team leader, sir? Starrett?”
A Texan by the name of Sam Starrett, also formerly of Navy SEAL Team Sixteen, was a major player in Paoletti’s new company, as was Starrett’s wife, former FBI agent Alyssa Locke, whose beauty was as legendary as her sharpshooting skills. Jimmy had hoped to meet the two of them today.
“Sam and Alyssa are both out of town,” Paoletti told them. Of course, “out of town” meant something a little different for his employees than it did for most people. “I was hoping you’d lead this team, Deck.”
Whoa. This wasn’t just a job offer—this was an open door. Paoletti was offering Decker a new career.
But Deck, being Deck, didn’t leap up and start doing cartwheels. He just nodded as if he were thinking about it, as if he might actually say no. He finally glanced at Jimmy before asking Paoletti, “What size team are you hoping to send over?”
“I’d like to send a battalion, but I just don’t have the manpower,” Paoletti said. Rumor had it he was recruiting as fast as he could. But recruiting took time. Background checks could be a real bitch.
Jimmy knew what his own background check had revealed. Nothing of substance. A name, a social security number, a date and city of birth. A two-word message: Access denied.
And just enough rumors to warrant that coolness in Tom Paoletti’s eyes.
He was actually surprised that Paoletti hadn’t asked to speak to Decker privately. Of course, there was still time for that.
“I’ve got two men who’ve worked with me for the past few months who are already en route to Kazabek—Dave Malkoff and Vinh Murphy,” the former SEAL CO continued. “Normally I would’ve asked for your approval as team leader before sending them out, but I couldn’t wait. Murph spent ten years in the Marines; Dave was with the CIA.”
“I know them both,” Deck said.
So did Jimmy. Murphy was cool, part African-American, part Vietnamese, with just enough Irish thrown in to make things completely confusing to anyone walking into a room and looking for a guy named Murphy. But CIA agent—former CIA agent, apparently, since he was now working for Paoletti—Dave Malkoff was a complete head case. He was a bundle of raw nerves in need of some serious decaffeination. And a new wardrobe. He made the MIB squad look colorful.
“Nash isn’t a big fan of Malkoff’s,” Decker told Paoletti, “but I’m okay with him. And Murph’s solid.”
“I’d also like to send along a computer specialist,” Paoletti told them, “but there’s a real shortage of skilled people. I got a call just this morning from a comspesh who’s had field training, but no experience. I know that’s not ideal. And I’ve never worked with her myself so I can’t vouch for—”
“Her?” Jimmy interrupted. Whoops. Deck was giving him a look. “Excuse me.” He threw in a little extra respect. “Sir. You’re actually considering sending a woman into Kazbekistan?”
Sending female agents into K-stan hadn’t been done without a great deal of angst five years ago, before the armpit of a country had had a regime change. And over the past few months things had gotten even worse there. Even the most basic of women’s rights had been flushed down the toilet.
“She wouldn’t be my first choice,” Paoletti said. “If I had a choice. Like I said, I haven’t worked with this comspesh, I haven’t even met her. But I’m pretty sure you both know her. She just left the Agency.”
A comspesh that he and Deck knew from the Agency who’d had field training? Oh, no. No, no.
“She worked in the support office.” Paoletti shuffled through the papers in front of him. “Her name’s . . .”
Not . . .
“Tess Bailey.”
Oh, shit.
Paoletti looked sharply up at Jimmy. “Problem, Nash?”
Had he said that aloud?
Apparently he had, since Deck was looking at him, too.
&n
bsp; “No,” Jimmy lied automatically before his brain fully kicked in. There were a lot of problems with Tess Bailey joining the team, and only one of them related to the fact that he’d spent the night with her two months ago and then left town without calling, without emailing, without a single word.
“Well, actually yes,” he quickly countered. “She’s great. Don’t get me wrong, Tess Bailey is really, really great. Good person. Smart, resourceful . . . But like you said, she’s got no experience out in the field.” He looked from Decker to Paoletti. “None. Whatsoever.”
“Everyone’s got to start somewhere,” Decker pointed out.
“Yes. Yes, they do.” Jimmy turned to face his partner, giving him an SOS message with his eyes. Whose side was he on here? “In Kansas City. Or Lincoln, Nebraska. Lincoln’s a great place to start fieldwork. Not Kazbekistan.”
Christ, he was going to pop a vein. He forced himself to take a deep breath. There was no way anyone in their right mind was going to send Tess Bailey and her cute little freckles to K-stan, the country that bore the nickname “the Pit.” As in Shit Pit. As in the putrid stank of the worst side of humanity.
“Tom. May I call you Tom?” Jimmy didn’t wait for Paoletti to give him permission before continuing. “Seriously, Tom, this is a woman who grew up on a farm in Iowa. We’re talking Middle America. Cornfields and blue skies. And she looks it, too. She has no chance of blending in in Kazabek. I mean, she might as well walk off the plane waving an American flag and singing ‘Yankee Doodle.’ I’m telling you, she looks like she stepped out of a Disney movie.”
“I don’t know what Disney movies you’ve been watching,” Decker said, giving Jimmy a smile that was grimly amused. “But I disagree.” He turned to Paoletti. “I think Tess Bailey would do just fine. Like Nash said, she’s smart and resourceful. In my opinion, she’s ready for the real world. When did she leave the Agency?”
Jimmy clenched his teeth, squelching a sound of pain. Decker was screwing him. And on purpose, too, if he correctly read the meaning of that smile.
“Just today,” Paoletti reported. “Apparently she got passed over for a field position again. She’s been trying to break out of support for a while.”
“Maybe there’s a good reason she was passed over,” Jimmy pointed out.
Paoletti turned to look at him. “Is there anything specific you know about her that would—”
“Yes,” Decker answered the man before Jimmy could even open his mouth. “The reason she was passed over is that she’s damn good at what she does while sitting at a desk. She’s a hacker, sir. She’s practically hardwired into her computer. It’s poetic, what she can do. She was working as part of a tiger team while she was in college—that’s how she got recruited by the Agency. They were bluffing when they turned her down—I know this for a fact. It’s been the Agency’s experience that most women will settle for support, or even just keep following the rules and applying for fieldwork indefinitely, but apparently she called their bluff and walked. Good for her.”
Paoletti laughed his surprise. “I guess you like her for this slot.”
But Decker wasn’t ready to laugh about this. “Not so much for this particular job, sir. I’m with Nash—I’d rather not bring a woman into K-stan unless there’s no other choice. But you definitely want her as a permanent member of your team.”
Whoa, what was Decker saying? Permanent? Jimmy couldn’t imagine going to K-stan with Tess, let alone working with her on a permanent basis.
Although, wait. Breathe. He himself was only in for this one assignment. He was going to Kazbekistan because he’d told Deck he would. But afterward, he was going to disappear again—this time someplace where Decker wouldn’t find him.
“The Agency’s going to come back to Tess with an offer,” Decker told Paoletti. “And they’re going to do it soon. If you want her—and you do, believe me, sir—you better grab her while you can. Bring her in for an interview—fast.”
A buzzer sounded from the outer office, but Paoletti didn’t move. He just gave Deck a long, measured look. The buzzer sounded again. It was the doorbell. Without a receptionsist out front, the door to the street was kept locked. It sounded a third time before he finally spoke. “Are you involved with this woman, Chief?”
Deck looked surprised and then . . . embarrassed? He glanced at Jimmy before answering. “Did I say something that implied I was—”
“No, you didn’t.” Paoletti cut him off, looking at Jimmy, too, speculation on his face.
Jimmy tried to look only mildly interested—as if this conversation about Tess Bailey wasn’t making him want to squirm in his seat.
“And frankly,” Paoletti added, “I shouldn’t have asked. It’s not my business. You just seem to know her rather well, and it reminded me of . . .” He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.”
But it obviously did matter to Deck. “I worked with Tess, sir,” he said, “and I don’t fraternize.”
“This isn’t the Navy,” Paoletti pointed out. “I don’t have any rules about what my people do on their time off. And as far as I’m aware, the Agency didn’t have those kinds of restrictions either.”
“As a rule, sir, I keep intimate relationships separate from work.”
Unlike some asshole whose name just might be Nash. Or mud. The two were apparently synonymous. Decker’s message to Jimmy was loud and clear, even without the pointed look.
The office telephone rang. “Excuse me,” Paoletti said, and picked it up. “Paoletti.”
Jimmy took the opportunity to lean toward Deck. “I’d like to point out that, also as a rule, you never get laid.”
Deck didn’t bother to respond.
“Great,” Paoletti said into the phone. “I’ll be right there to let you in.” He pushed himself to his feet and dropped another bomb, this one of devastating proportions. “Tess Bailey’s out front. Her flight got in early.”
Jimmy didn’t so much as blink. Mentally, he’d jumped out of his seat and run right through the wall into the back parking lot—like Wile E. Coyote used to do on the Road Runner—leaving behind a hole in the shape of a desperately fleeing man. Physically though, he didn’t move an eyelash.
“That fast enough for you, Chief?” Paoletti smiled at Decker.
As the former SEAL CO vanished into the outer office, Decker turned and looked at Jimmy. His eyes were decidedly chilly.
“You didn’t call her after we left the Agency, did you?” Deck guessed correctly, although it was a mystery how he suddenly knew that. Because Jimmy was still not reacting to Tess’s unexpected appearance. Not at all. Nothing, nada, zip. No expression whatsoever. “You didn’t tell her where you were going, you just left town, no word.”
It was pointless to lie. “Yeah.” Crap, how was he going to handle this?
“You are such an asshole.” Deck was going to be no help. He was genuinely pissed at Jimmy.
It didn’t happen often, but when it did—look out.
“Yeah, I know.” He was an asshole. Had he really thought he’d simply never run into Tess again? Had he honestly believed it would be that easy?
“You know what I never do?” Deck said flatly. “I never find myself in the awkward situation of having to work with someone I’ve screwed, both literally and figuratively. Jesus, Nash.”
Jimmy could hear Tess’s voice in the outer office—her laughter as she responded to the lower rumble of Paoletti’s voice. Shit. Shit. Any second she was going to walk in here and . . .
“You don’t have to worry,” Decker told him. “Not right now, anyway. She’s a professional—she’s going to behave like a professional. It’s later, when she gets you alone—”
Oh, Holy Christ. “Don’t let her get me alone.” Jimmy broke down and begged.
“Fuck you,” Decker said, and actually meant it. He stood up, headed toward the door that led to the outer office. “I’m not just going to let it happen, asshole. I’m going to help set it up.”
“No, Deck, listen,” Ji
mmy said. “You don’t get it. . . .”
But what could he possibly say to make Decker understand when he himself didn’t even fully comprehend the reason he’d run so hard and fast from Tess?
But Decker wasn’t waiting for him to try to explain the inexplicable.
He was already gone.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
CHAPTER
FOUR
Decker intercepted Tess and Paoletti before they came into the conference room.
“Hey, Tess,” he said, holding out his hand for her to shake. “How’ve you been?”
She was surprised to see him. Genuinely pleased, too, with a wide smile that was sincere. “Lawrence Decker! I didn’t expect to see you in San Diego.”
Troubleshooters 08 Flashpoint Page 5