His Spy at Night (Spy Games Book 3)

by Paula Altenburg

  And then Harry realized how much of a dull fuddy-duddy he really was, because no doubt that was John’s objective. Lies—young, pretty, and ambitious—was bait.

  Did Harry approve?

  Not in the least. It left a bad taste in his mouth. But it wasn’t his call. All he had to do was satisfy himself that she could pull off her role as his personal assistant. The rest was John’s problem.

  He fired a barrage of questions at her, most of which she answered either to his satisfaction or with skillful evasion, and he was impressed. She was smart. He made note of the areas where she’d need to be coached.

  Then, it was her turn to grill him.

  “Can you tell me a little about how the trade commission functions?” she asked. “Who works in your defense department? How many people come through in the run of a day? What is your client base?”

  As far as his entire client base was concerned, he wasn’t going there. The only one who concerned her was Vanderloord. The rest didn’t need CSIS nosing around in their business.

  “One of our clients is the reason I’m here.” He’d already told John his story, and John had no doubt filled her in, at least in part, but Harry would repeat it to make sure Lies understood what she was getting into. “Bernard Vanderloord is a Canadian ex-pat who does business all over the world, primarily with military contracts. Basically, he acts as a third-party broker, buying and selling manufactured parts for maintenance and repair. I have reason to believe that some of those aircraft parts in particular are being purchased for one purpose, then modified, re-categorized, and sold for a secondary purpose. Europe’s open borders are convenient for moving re-purposed goods from one country, then shipped from a second or third country to circumvent trade embargos. It works a lot like money laundering.” John had said Lies was an expert on that subject, and she was nodding, so Harry continued. “The euro is fast becoming the currency of choice for money laundering, surpassing the American dollar, because of the number of countries that use it and because it can move across borders without being traced. So, not only has Vanderloord been trafficking in military goods, but he’s also exchanging currency. He’s set up a sort of hawala system in at least ten different countries, including Canada. You know what that is?”

  She nodded again. “Yes. It’s an informal value transfer system. Money is given to a broker in one country, who calls a broker in a second country to release that amount to the intended recipient, minus a percentage. The brokers either exchange equal value goods or services for the cash, or hold a credit against a future cash exchange. Since a hawala system operates on a high level of trust, I’m assuming Mr. Vanderloord is using companies he’s either invested in or has a working relationship with.”

  “For the most part.” He was trying to establish working relationships with Harry’s connections to further his networks and Harry wasn’t having it.

  “How did you find out all of this?”

  The tips of his ears began to burn. “The wife of an Albanian diplomat. She took me aside at an art event at their embassy in The Hague to tell me.”

  Lies dissected that piece of information and came to the same conclusion he had. “She was sleeping with Vanderloord and he ended the relationship.”

  “That would be a reasonable assumption, yes.” His face had to be matching his ears by now. The Albanian diplomat should have known better than to marry his mistress. If she’ll do it with you, she’ll do it to you, to paraphrase Dr. Phil. “It also means her information is suspect. She could be trying to get even with him. To be honest, she’s dramatic and politics isn’t her strong suit. She might have misunderstood something she overheard and blown it out of proportion.”

  But he didn’t believe that, and he could tell by the slight inward, thoughtful drawing of Lies’s pretty red lips that she knew he didn’t.

  He shifted the conversation off his clients and onto the daily operations of his office. Lies had a number of language skills besides Dutch that might come in handy, although when it came to sharing the details of her educational background, she was understandably vague.

  After that, the conversation started to drag. A surreptitious glance at his watch warned Harry that John was overdue from his meeting. Harry couldn’t simply walk out of the office. He worked with the military and this wasn’t his first trip to National Headquarters in Ottawa so he knew the drill. Someone had to escort him downstairs to security so he could sign out and turn in his visitor pass.

  Besides, he had a few things to discuss with John in private. The diplomat’s angry, sobbing, mistress-turned-wife left him unconvinced that a female intelligence officer handling Vanderloord was the best approach to be taking. Things could get messy and ugly, and he didn’t want an international incident unfolding on Dutch soil. Their shipbuilding industry had strong connections to Canada. Not to mention, this whole setup made him feel like a pimp.

  And he hadn’t given John the whole story either. He’d left Alcine out of it. She swore she’d told Vanderloord nothing about the trade commission’s business and Harry believed her.

  There’d be very little for her to tell anyway. He’d never indulged in pillow talk.

  “If you have work to do, I don’t mind waiting for John alone,” he hinted to Lies.

  “I can’t leave you alone, especially in the director’s private office.”

  “Of course not. I wasn’t thinking.” Now he felt like an idiot. But he was struggling to find a casual topic of conversation with a beautiful woman in a context that was outside his usual frame of reference. If this were a social setting, he’d have no problem. At work, also not an issue. This wasn’t either of those. “I take it you’re familiar with the Netherlands already. What’s your favorite place?”

  She flashed him that dazzling smile. It warned him she knew how uncomfortable he was and she’d use it as leverage if he gave her half a chance.

  “The whole country is beautiful,” she said. “I do have to say, though, I have a particular attachment to Friesland. I have family there.”

  They’d found common ground. He relaxed, although he didn’t let down his guard. “One of our biggest shipbuilding clients has offices in Friesland. I’ve taken a tour. For my own personal preference though, I like Leiden.” He shrugged. “There’s something about the youth and the enthusiasm of an international university town I find fascinating.”

  “Because you forget what it’s like to be young?” She lifted one dark blond eyebrow and rubbed the tips of her long fingers along the tubular steel arm of her chair, a sparkle in her eyes making their blue depths appear even more vivid. “You aren’t such an old man.”

  Her gentle teasing came from nowhere, changing the pattern his thoughts had been making from a straight line to a tangled maze he couldn’t maneuver. In any other situation he’d almost think she was flirting with him, but she wasn’t a social acquaintance, employee, or friend. Because he didn’t know how to classify her, he wasn’t quite sure where to take the conversation from here. Since she was CSIS, however, he’d sure as hell never be able to trust her enough to let down his guard. Their interactions, if he couldn’t convince John to replace her, were going to fall somewhere between informal and official. That translated to awkward and she’d take full advantage of it, as she was trying to do now.

  She was a spy. He’d do best to remember it. Whatever game she was planning to play, he’d sit on the sidelines and mind his own business. Unfortunately, he couldn’t warn anyone else in his office or circle of acquaintances that she’d come in contact with. He hoped there wouldn’t be too much collateral damage.

  “Not so much old,” he conceded dryly, “as wise. I do have a few years of experience behind me.”

  Before she could comment on that, John reappeared. He strode into the room and tossed his papers on the desk. “How’d we make out?” he asked, his manner suggesting he believed the planning he’d left them to do had gone off without any hitches.

  Not true.

  “I’d like a f
ew words with you,” Harry said to him.

  * * *

  Lies knew when she was being dismissed. She gathered the file John had given her earlier, shuffling the loose pages inside it so they were lined up neat and tidy with the edges, then stood.

  “I’ll read this before I leave the office,” she said to her director, holding the file up in one hand. “I’m going to head home this afternoon to pack.”

  She might not need to do so after Harry had John alone. She’d definitely picked up on a vibe that said he didn’t want her working with him. She suspected he was going to try and talk John into handing this assignment to another intelligence officer, most likely a man. In retaliation, she’d had to poke him a little by teasing him about his sober personality.

  Get with the times, Mr. Jordan. Women work in espionage too. In fact, they’ve done so for centuries.

  He stood with her, all gentlemanly politeness. At five foot ten, or maybe an inch more, he was around the same height as she. He wasn’t heavy or thin, handsome or homely. He had nice brown eyes with lashes almost as long as a girl’s, tipping the man-meter scales to attractive. He wore his brown hair military-cut short. So far, there were no touches of gray or hints of male pattern baldness. His suit and shoes screamed understated but expensive, and fit him very well. It was obvious he kept in good physical condition. Lies decided that, even though vanity was the more powerful motivator for most people, Harry worked out to fend off stress. He wasn’t the most Zen person she’d ever met.

  And yet he didn’t give the impression of a man who made many mistakes. He also knew how to keep his cards close to his chest, evading any questions she’d posed that he’d deemed too personal when it came to either him, his staff, or his business associates. She itched to find out what he was hiding. His personal secrets wouldn’t be deep and dark—he practically glowed with integrity—but she suspected they might prove interesting, because Harry had something deeper going for him. He was charismatic in a quiet way that had encouraged a woman who’d been jilted by a lover to entrust him with a secret that could cost her life. Arms dealing and money laundering—for that was what Vanderloord was doing—weren’t things nice people did, no matter how they tried to dress it up. Lies had personal experience.

  The pain of loss and humiliation, still fresh, squeezed her heart. She wasn’t ready to take on another assignment where she was expected to get close to a man. That was the real reason she’d helped sabotage herself by poking fun at Harry. He’d be presenting his case against her the second she walked out the door and a part of her hoped for his success. Mind games were one thing. Games of the heart quite another, and hers was still fragile.

  He extended his hand. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Lies.”

  He had a nice grip—longer than indifference, but not so long as to become off-putting to women. He didn’t say he’d see her at the airport, or in The Hague, or that he looked forward to working with her, confirming her suspicions that he planned to have her replaced. She murmured something equally polite, nodded to John who was watching their interaction and not missing a nuance, and slipped out of the office, closing the door behind her with a soft snick.

  A clock on the cream-colored wall of the outer office shouted that it was already almost time for a coffee break, and so far this morning, she hadn’t even made it as far as her desk.

  She spoke a few words to John’s assistant Penny as she passed her desk, then, out in the common area of the department, worked her way through the maze of cubicles to her own. She dropped the file in her top desk drawer, grabbed her empty coffee cup, and went to fill it in the break room before returning to her workspace for a few hours of light reading.

  Before she was completely resettled, a tiny paper Canadian flag mounted on a wooden stick popped up over one wall of her cubicle, followed by a head.

  Dan, her team leader. He came around the partition and made himself at home in the tiny plastic visitor’s chair.

  “Truce?” he asked.

  “That depends on if you brought chocolate.”

  He passed her a small white bag from a nearby specialty store. “I wouldn’t do this kissing up for just anyone, you know.”

  Of course not. Most of his team members were men smart enough not to sleep with their targets. Granted, that was because most of their targets were also men. Plus, Dan had sold her out. She hadn’t forgotten that part, no matter how good he believed his reason for it to be. There was a double standard at play here.

  That didn’t mean she wasn’t taking his chocolate. At the end of the day, double standard or not, Lies was the one who’d made the mistake. How Dan chose to address it was his prerogative. She loved her job and she wanted to keep it.

  “Thank you,” she said, opening the bag and peeking inside. “I’m not sharing it with you.”

  “I know you think I treated you differently, and maybe I did,” Dan began, diving right in. “But there’s a lot at stake on this assignment. I don’t want anyone’s overpaid lawyer calling your integrity into question.”

  So Dan knew about the defense minister’s involvement, even if she wouldn’t be reporting to him.

  Did she really want to take on the Minister of National Defence?

  She popped a milk chocolate, hazelnut praline into her mouth, mulling his words over. No one’s lawyer would have any reason to come gunning for her. She gathered information which CSIS then passed on to the appropriate authorities. It wasn’t up to CSIS, a civilian organization, to prove the value of her information in court. That was a problem for law enforcement officers.

  And the Minister of National Defence wasn’t above the law.

  A rush of adrenaline swept through her. She could do this.

  “Your kissing up is accepted,” she mumbled around a mouthful of sweet, gooey goodness, hoping Harry lost his argument with John after all.

  Chapter Two

  The airport lounge was quiet this evening.

  Harry, seated alone at the bar, stared into his beer. He’d bumped Lies’s ticket to business class so she’d be seated with him for the journey—since for all intents and purposes she was now his PA—and then left a message for her to meet him here. They had to make a short domestic hop to Toronto to meet their connecting flight to Amsterdam and a quick check of his watch said she was cutting it close. He’d hoped to establish certain boundaries before they reached Amsterdam and had to put on a show. The confined cabin of an aircraft wasn’t the place for that discussion.

  John had refused to reconsider assigning her to his office. “She’s the best person for you, Harry. Trust me. She’ll get the job done. You’re telling me he has a weakness for young, beautiful women. He’s also been trying to work his way into your office. Lies will get him a foot in the door without you having to do an about-face that might make him suspicious.”

  That last was true enough. Something about Vanderloord had rubbed Harry the wrong way from the first, and the incident with Alcine had sealed his opinion. He made it a personal policy to avoid doing business with anyone he didn’t believe he could trust and he’d turned down several meeting requests from Vanderloord already. Lies, new to the staff and inexperienced, could accept the next one on his behalf.

  She slid onto the stool beside him.

  She wore a pair of tight-fitting tan leggings and a lightweight white blazer. Her shoes were beige canvas flats and matched the bag she was carrying. Her short mass of blond ringlets had been drawn back from her face and tamed by a white hairband. She looked exactly like a fresh-faced young professional on a business trip, casual but not careless about her appearance, so he couldn’t say why he had this sense of impending disaster. He had no basis for his belief she’d never be able to pull this off. He knew nothing about her other than that she was a spy.

  Maybe he really was all doom and gloom—another one of Alcine’s complaints about him when they’d ended their relationship.

  Lies’s knee kissed his thigh as she got comfortable on the stool. All his ner
ve endings cried danger. He shifted his leg away, trying not to be obvious, uncertain as to whether the intimate contact was deliberate or not. She was a flirt who enjoyed playing games and he found her far too attractive to best her at this one.

  “Sorry I’m late,” she said. “I had extra bags to check and it was a bit of a production. Airlines are ruthless.”

  Of course she’d have a lot of luggage. He should have arranged for them to arrive at the airport together so he could help her with it. He carried an overnight bag because he was only in Canada for a few days, but she’d had to pack for an indeterminate stay in The Hague.

  He drained the last of his beer and signaled the bartender for another. “Can I buy you a drink?”

  “I’ll have a cola.”

  The bartender brought them their drinks and Harry paid his tab. He picked up his glass, looked around the empty room, then reached for the overnight bag and laptop on the floor at his feet. “Let’s move to a table where we can talk.”

  He tucked his belongings under the table out of their way and held Lies’s chair for her before seating himself.

  “I wanted to go over a few of your duties with you,” he began.

  “I’ll be an awesome personal assistant, Harry,” she assured him with a level of confidence he had to admire. “You won’t regret hiring me. Nobody expects someone new to a position to hit the ground running, and I’m not afraid to ask questions.”

  That was a large part of the problem. He didn’t want her interrogating his staff and associates. He knew exactly how much intelligence someone could gather by feigning ignorance. She was a wolf in sheep’s clothing and he was turning her loose on an unsuspecting flock. So when he said duties, he really meant boundaries.

  He’d already figured out she’d have little respect for his authority. John Carmichael was her real boss, not him.