Undercover Soldier

by Linda O. Johnston

  He was just glad she had it.

  “I’m on my way now. It’d help to know whether those claiming to be the Andrewses actually could be them. Either way, I’m damned concerned about why they happen to be at Jim Martin’s place. My cover may be blown even more than I’d thought.”

  Their talking freely on the phone was unlikely to make things worse, at least—not with the way the system was configured with protections built in.

  “I’ll get back to you as soon as possible,” Michael said. “One way or the other, this’ll ramp up the urgency of your mission even more. Have you gotten into the emails of the company execs yet?”

  “Working on it. The suggestions your tech guys provided helped me past the lower rungs of security, but not all I needed. I don’t want to make it obvious that someone is trying to bypass what’s in place, either, so this process is even slower than physically tagging after people to learn what I could.”

  “So what’s your plan?”

  “I’ve got another source I’m tapping into for advice,” he said obscurely.

  “Yeah? I can guess who that source is.” Brody couldn’t tell if Michael approved or not. His tone was sardonic, though—in amusement or anger?

  “Maybe you can, and maybe—”

  “Your Sherra has already proven that she can stick her nose nearly anywhere on the internet, so go for it,” Michael said. “Only problem was, what she does is detectable to those with good skills or you wouldn’t be on her case. Better do it fast and right the first time.”

  Michael disconnected before Brody could agree—or express concern.

  Brody soon reached his exit and got off the Beltway. His apartment was only a couple of miles farther.

  How would he handle this?

  Smoothly. It had to be done right. Whether these people were the real Andrewses or not, they could be as eager to make contact with him as he was with them at this moment.

  They might have information he could use.

  If so, he’d make sure they turned it over. Without harming Sherra or him.

  He only hoped she was okay.

  As Brody parked the car, Michael called back. “My sources say that the Andrewses have been making waves. They don’t get why their son hasn’t been in touch, even while on some covert assignment. They apparently hired a private investigator who somehow unearthed a connection with ‘Jim Martin,’ so they may assume that, when Jim Martin appears, it’ll be their son. Treat ’em as gently as you can. It sounds legit.”

  “Thanks.” Brody hung up to finish parking. This promised to be an interesting meeting.

  But even with this additional tidbit of info, he wouldn’t let down his guard.

  * * *

  Sherra was glad—and relieved—to see Brody enter the store. He stalked in and looked around with such intensity that she wondered if he would be the one to cause a scene. But as he caught her eye, he scrunched over into his Jim Martin character—noticeable to her, but she doubted anyone else would catch the instantaneous transformation.

  Despite the crowd filling nearly all the coffee shop’s tables, he reached them fairly quickly. All eyes at her table were on him.

  Except hers. Sherra looked from Mae to Burl to Bobby, wondering what their expressions meant. None appeared to recognize Brody, which wasn’t surprising. Did that mean they actually were who they’d said—Brody Andrews’s family? They most likely wouldn’t have met the man with the similar name to their relative.

  Sherra had been friendly but not disclosing as they waited for “Jim.” Now, she would let him take the lead.

  He approached her first. “Hi, Sally. Good to see you.”

  He gave no indication of who they were supposed to pretend to be to one another, so she kept things general, too. “Hi, Jim. Glad to see you, too, but I’m a bit confused about what’s going on.”

  The three Andrewses stood, and so did Sherra. “You’re Jim Martin?” Burl demanded. His thin face looked florid, his mouth a straight line of disbelief.

  “That’s right.” Brody sounded calm and he regarded the three people with friendly interest. “And you are…”

  “We’re the Andrewses.” Mae’s voice sounded sad and strained. She chewed her bottom lip as if to gnaw away the urge to cry, then continued, “We got some inaccurate information, I’m afraid. We thought—”

  “We thought you were my brother in disguise,” Bobby finished as his mother’s words tapered off. His expression was blank, as if he had shuttered all emotion, unlike his parents.

  So were these people who they’d claimed to be? Sherra had doubted it before, but they seemed so genuine.

  “Sorry.” Brody sounded as if he meant it. He, too, must believe in them.

  “Look, we’re just so confused,” Mae continued. “Would you mind coming with us to someplace quiet—a lounge, maybe, where we can get a drink? We’ll tell you what’s been happening. I doubt you’ll be able to help, but maybe you can tell us why your name came up when we started trying to find our son.”

  Sherra looked at Brody for a cue. Was he willing to go along?

  She doubted it. Even if they were the real family of poor Brody Andrews, it could hurt Brody’s cover if he let on that he knew anything about their dead son and brother.

  She was surprised, then, when he agreed. “I don’t think we can help,” he said, “but we’ll join you for a drink.”

  * * *

  Good sob story, Brody thought, moving around the table to be closest to Sherra. He took her arm, giving a warning glance that she apparently understood since her questioning expression turned bland.

  “You’re here early for dinner, dear,” he told her, giving her a hint of the persona she should take on. Jim’s girlfriend should be a good, benign role.

  He didn’t want these folks to be the real family of Brody Andrews. He didn’t want to meet the real Andrewses until he had found, with certainty, who was behind the assault in Afghanistan that had led to the other Brody’s death. He wanted to be able to hand them that, at least, to help them reach closure.

  They certainly made it look good, though. He’d have to be careful what he said, just in case.

  Hadn’t Brody Andrews told him his mother had straight gray hair? That could have been changed, of course.

  If they weren’t the real Andrewses, he needed to learn who they were and get them to reveal who had sent them here.

  He knew where to take them for the quiet discussion they requested.

  He’d just have to figure out how to get Sherra safely out of the way, and then he would elicit the truth. Whatever it took.

  Chapter 15

  Brody had done his homework. After moving to this neighborhood in the guise of a human resources underling at AFD, he had acted like a regular guy—part of the role he played.

  That meant checking out local restaurants and bars. He’d even pretended to flirt with local women, although he had kept that to a minimum.

  But he’d made mental note of which places were best for maintaining anonymity, and which had the friendliest staff.

  He therefore led this group toward The Drinking Place, a mellow bar down the street. Its main evening bartender had become a buddy of sorts, or at least a tentative ally.

  Brody could rely on Kern to keep an eye on things. They had talked enough for Brody to find out that Kern was once in the military—Special Forces like Brody’s own brother—and although Brody admitted to nothing, he knew the guy had figured out that Brody was more than he seemed.

  They talked now and then and said little, but Brody believed they had bonded beneath the surface.

  He might be about to find out for sure.

  Brody thought he could at least trust Kern to call the cops if things went south. In fact, a few cops frequented The Drinking Place now and
then, although it was probably too early for them to appear.

  His arm was around Sherra’s shoulders as he ushered the group down the street. He liked the feeling, even though they were both just playing roles again. She looked up at him now and then as if trying to figure out what he was thinking.

  A good thing. Maybe she would follow his lead.

  The supposed family members seemed inclined to lag behind, but Brody wouldn’t let them. He held Sherra back, pointing out stores, restaurants and places of quasi-interest, as if the others were tourists and he wanted to ensure they had a good time.

  Not that they appeared to have any interest. But even if they were the Andrewses that wasn’t surprising.

  The Drinking Place was only a couple of blocks from the coffee shop, and the group soon arrived. Brody let the others enter first, then preceded Sherra and pointed to a sufficiently large table at one side of the dark, nearly empty venue.

  He nodded toward the bartender, glad to see that it was indeed Kern on duty. He’d slip away from the table in a bit, ostensibly to check on their order. That way, he’d have a moment alone with the guy to give him a heads-up that this group might not be all that it seemed.

  A familiar barmaid—tall, leggy and attentive—in a skimpy uniform approached their table. She been Brody’s server before and began to flirt with him as the others gave their orders.

  He played along to see Sherra’s reaction.

  “I want the same thing my guy is having.” Sherra sent a pseudo-dreamy glance his way.

  The barmaid, whose name Brody had never ascertained because it was irrelevant to him, shot him an angry glare as she waited for his order. He smiled benignly—and ordered a heavy dark ale that he doubted Sherra would enjoy, based on his recollections of her preferences in the past.

  Not that he’d drink it, or at least not all of it and definitely not fast. He needed his wits about him.

  But he enjoyed the annoyed glance Sherra leveled on him before he looked again at the Andrewses. Unsurprisingly—maybe for the roles they played—Mae ordered a glass of wine, and the two men ordered gin and tonics, heavy on the gin.

  As they waited, Brody prompted them. “I’d like to hear what’s going on—what brought you here looking for me.” As Jim. This could be interesting.

  They gave a damned good spiel as if they were really the Andrewses. Maybe they were. If so, Brody felt sorry for them. He wished, in some ways, that they had actually found their son undercover here, at the end of their quest. When he’d been recruited for this mission, he had fought to get someone to tell both families the truth, his and the Andrewses, as long as they all promised to keep it to themselves. But those in charge didn’t agree. They claimed it wasn’t in the best interests of national security, and maybe it wasn’t. They also said this would give Brody the impetus to fulfill his mission as fast as possible.

  If these folks weren’t really Brody Andrews’s family, who were they—and why were they here?

  “The PI we hired assured us that the person named Jim Martin who lived in your building was really our son,” Burl said. He looked around as if wishing his drink was already in his hands. “We’d already been told by someone in the military—a guy who stayed anonymous—that Brody was on a very special secret mission and had to go undercover here in the States. But we haven’t heard from him in months, so we decided to try to find him. We’ve been hanging around a couple of days, but Jim wasn’t here—till now.”

  “I understand.” Sherra sounded wistful. Brody felt certain she was remembering her own quest after hearing he’d died.

  He wished that didn’t make his insides start looping to warm and fuzzy.

  He stood abruptly. “Excuse me. I’m going to check on our order.” He felt Sherra’s irritation once more, but so be it.

  It was early enough that the bar wasn’t too crowded, so he was able to motion to Kern to approach in an area far from where people were seated.

  “Everything okay, Jim?” The guy’s voice was perennially raspy, as if he yelled a lot over conversations in this establishment. His body had gone to flab beneath his white shirt and black trousers, and a requisite apron was carelessly tied around his waist. “Your drinks’ll be served in a minute.”

  “Fine.” Brody drew closer. “I’d like you to keep watch on my group tonight. I have a feeling…” He didn’t finish but felt certain Kern would get it.

  He did. Drawing even closer, he said in a low voice, “Something covert? Anyone you’ll need for me to call?”

  “The cops should be good enough if anything goes down that shouldn’t. Hopefully it won’t.”

  Kern nodded and stepped back. Louder, he said, “I’ll make sure your beer is really cold this time. Sorry about last time you were here.”

  Brody would have to buy him a beer sometime. Or maybe just fill him in when this miserable excuse for a civilian exercise was over—anything he could reveal then, at least.

  He returned to the table. Mae Andrews was speaking earnestly with Sherra, telling her how strange things had been since they were notified about their Brody’s covert assignment. “We didn’t even know he was going into that side of the military. Before, he’d seemed happy to just be an army private. But I can’t tell you how proud of him we are.”

  The server brought their drinks a minute after Brody resumed his seat. His beer really was cold. He held up the bottle to salute Kern who was, unsurprisingly, watching them.

  They stayed for another half hour. Bobby described how he’d checked with some military contacts about his brother’s supposed assignment, then, feeling dissatisfied, had contacted the PI. The detective had come across the name Jim Martin and the D.C. location but otherwise hit a dead end.

  He had obviously been wrong, the Andrewses all agreed. Jim Martin was definitely not Brody Andrews.

  Sherra acted as if she bought it all. She listened closely, her lovely face appearing sad and sympathetic. He knew she could be good actress, but this seemed real.

  Which only made him feel more bummed out, since he was starting to buy it, too.

  Plus, he was damned worried that any nosy person, PI or not, could associate Brody Andrews with Jim Martin. Was his assignment in trouble again?

  “Sorry to bend your ear this way,” Mae finally finished. Burl plopped a couple of bills on the table, and Brody paid for Sherra’s drink and his own. “It helps to talk about it, though. I don’t suppose you really know anything about where our Brody is, do you?”

  She regarded “Jim” hopefully, and he shook his head. “I wish I did,” he said, knowing that he might, someday, have to tell these people he’d been lying and he was fully aware that their son was killed in action in Afghanistan.

  Under other circumstances, the death of Brody Andrews would not have been covered up this way. He only hoped that it would be clear he had saved other lives by the operation he conducted, so that Brody’s death hadn’t been obscured in vain.

  Outside the bar, they all started walking down the sidewalk once more. It was more crowded now, later in the evening.

  “We’re parked over there.” Burl pointed to a lot between two restaurants. “Look, I’ve got couple more questions. Would you mind heading there with us?”

  Brody did mind but still wanted to know what they were up to. He considered ordering “Sally” back to his place, but discarded the idea. First, he didn’t want her to be alone in case this was a ruse for someone to break into his apartment and search it while he was preoccupied—not that they’d find anything helpful there.

  And second, they might not do whatever they had in mind if the two of them separated.

  Third, and probably most important, was that Sherra would not obey his order unless she agreed with it up front.

  So, Brody would do what he had to and learn what the Andrewses wanted to say.

 
Mostly, he would stay wary.

  * * *

  Sherra sensed Brody’s mistrust. She felt it, too.

  As a result, she was a little surprised he agreed to accompany the Andrewses to the parking lot.

  It was well-lit, at least. But it looked crowded with cars and nearly devoid of people. Not the safest place to go if these folks really were here to shut down Brody’s assignment—by shutting him down physically.

  She trusted him. She would be careful and follow his leads.

  Her walking beside Mae seemed okay with Brody. The older woman talked a lot about her son growing up in the South, how close they were, the works. She was laying it on thick. If this wasn’t real, these people must be extra skilled in putting their targets off guard. Or trying to.

  They reached the parking lot. An attendant’s booth stood near the entrance.

  “Sorry we couldn’t be more help,” Brody said. “Sally, it’s time for you to head off on the errand you told me about. I’ll meet you at my place.”

  That errand was in his imagination. Clearly Brody didn’t want Sherra to go farther into the shadow-filled lot.

  She didn’t want him to, either. Not if he might be in danger. “Come with me,” she said. “Nice talking to all of you.”

  Only they weren’t all together any longer. Mae had turned and unlocked a nearby aging white sedan with a Georgia license plate. She slid into the driver’s seat.

  “Get into the car,” said Bobby, who was closest to Sherra. His tone was menacing, and when Sherra turned she saw he was holding a gun.

  So was Burl.

  “What’s this about?” Brody demanded. “Who are you really? What do you want?”

  He took a step toward Sherra as if to protect her. Even as Jim Martin, who had an apparent romantic interest in the woman he referred to as Sally, that was no surprise.

  The next thing was, though. Brody whipped out his own gun and immediately shot Burl. Fortunately, Burl didn’t get off a shot but shrieked in pain as he fell to the ground, clutching his chest. Brody grabbed his gun.