Force of Fire

by Rosa Turner Boschen

  Peggy and Tom were nursing their drinks across the table, pretending to listen to the music, but Isabel knew otherwise.

  Suddenly the room was stifling. 'I think I’d like to get some air.'

  'Of course,' Albert said, getting up and helping her with her chair.

  'We’re game!' Peggy shouted over the tumbling play of the piano.

  This wasn’t exactly what Isabel had in mind, but perhaps it was for the best. There was safety in numbers. Albert was practically a stranger. Oddly, though, she trusted him.

  She liked the way he held the door and linked his arm through hers when they stepped onto the street. He walked appropriately to her left, defending her Saturday night clothes from the unseemly splatter of automobiles. It occurred to her they looked like a couple, not much different from Tom and Peggy up ahead. Any number of passersby would assume...

  He was taking her down a side street, to a back-alley crossing of the C&O Canal. He led her to the crest of a little bridge overlooking the water and gave some sort of signal to Tom. She suddenly realized the two of them were being left alone. She knew she should be afraid. And she was, but not of Albert Kane.

  'Isabel,' he said, stopping and taking her in his arms. 'I have traveled the world over, yet never met anyone quite like you.'

  He was looking deep into her eyes, searching for something. Her heart was pounding in her throat. She felt as transparent as the image of the moon gliding with the waters below them.

  He pulled her to him and pressed the warmth of his mouth to hers.

  She pushed back. 'Albert!'

  'You’re absolutely right,' he said. 'I should never have let my emotions run away with me. I beg your pardon...can’t believe I’d...'

  He was adorable standing there in the moonlight, his composure ashambles. There was something about this American she could fall in love with.

  He was still apologizing in spite of himself, '..any way to forgive me.'

  She would never forgive him, if he did not give her another kiss. Or herself, if she didn’t beat him to it.

  He wrapped his arms around her and she fell into his embrace, reaching her mouth to his, falling into the dizzying pleasure of his kiss. She’d never tasted such fire, wasn’t even aware an American could possess it.

  He leaned back to stroke her forehead, pushing an errant strand of hair out of her face. There was a truth in his eyes that denied the fact they were strangers.

  'Isabel,' he said with a smile that wrapped its way around her like the warmest Andalusian wind. 'When I heard the War was ended, I knew I’d be going home, but I really had nowhere to go… or no one to come home to. But now, being here, seeing you, I know in my heart my journeys will never be so undirected again.'

  She felt herself blush as she took in the implausibility of the statement. But then he pressed his mouth to hers and all doubt melted away in the butter of his kiss.

  He’d stayed true to his word. And though his work came to involve substantial travel – much of it apart from the family, he never once failed to come home. She, in turn, had always readied a place for him. Made the meals inviting, the house his refuge. He had rescued her from the mundane responsibility of returning to Spain to marry a wealthy yet much older financier. Albert had freed her from her own insecurities and taught her that love can transcend continents, that two distinct heritages could meld together in the fiercest alloyed bond. They were stronger, the two of them, for having each other. Both of them knew it and had sensed it from that very first night in Georgetown.

  Tom and Peggy's marriage was unexpectedly sudden. Tom was accepted into the Foreign Service and assigned immediately to Haiti. He proposed the afternoon of his posting and Peggy, always game for adventure, had accepted. Albert and Isabel witnessed the small, private ceremony at the Gothic cathedral in Northwest Washington. Isabel always believed it was their participation in this romantic coupling that had inspired Albert's desire for commitment. He’d asked her to be his wife just four weeks later...

  Isabel turned to face his paper-strewn desk. She had never gathered the courage to go finally through his things. Packing up Albert's office would lend some kind of finality to his death that she was not yet ready to face. She thought of the intruders, those bestial men who had invaded her home and upended the files in his private room. It didn't make any sense, and it pained her to think what her husband's reaction might have been to seeing his 'perfectly ordered disorder,' as he called it, destroyed.

  Isabel reflected for a moment on Tom. Steady, reliable Tom, now widowed, now in service in Costa Negra. Tom had been so good to her when Albert died. She really didn't know how she would have faced it without him. Poor Tom had lost everything. First Charles Joseph, his only child, had been swept out to sea at Myrtle Beach, the body never recovered. No finality to it. No way for Tom and Peggy ever to find peace. Peggy had her first stroke the year that Chuck vanished. She was only fifty-four.

  What a blessing it was for them Tom just happened to be visiting between postings when Albert suffered his heart attack. Right here in this very room, she thought, feeling a chill creep down her spine.

  She hadn't been there; she’d been out with Emalita shopping for the grandchildren. Ana was working out of Washington at the time. So it was only Tom who could answer Albert's cry when he felt that first rush of pain coming on.

  If it couldn't have been me, Isabel found herself thinking many times since, thank God, it was Tom here with him at the end.

  Isabel knew Albert, an only child who thought of Tom as a brother, would have wanted it that way. Though their paths had diverged, they had somehow managed to stay close. The times they had actually seen each other over the years had been few and far between, but the two of them shared the kind of bond that could be rekindled immediately upon reunion. Theirs was a spontaneous sort of friendship, an effortless liaison of spirit that had managed to endure both time and separation.

  Isabel set her glass down on the side of Albert's desk, and ran her fingers across the ink-stained green blotter. Somehow, in this room, she could feel him. All at once it was as if he had never left, as if at any second he would walk through that door and banish her from his chair...

  Isabel clung to the fantasy as she shut her eyes against the warm intrusion of tears.

  CHAPTER TEN

  When Mark arrived at his office straight from the airport, Scott Denton was waiting in his brown leather chair, the watchful eye of the secretary on his back. Cathy was purposeful, blonde and slated for promotion at the end of the month. She was only twenty-four, but had learned the ropes quickly. Mark sometimes wondered if she even had a personal life.

  Denton spun nonchalantly from his late-day perusal of city monuments. The young man's bearded, moon-shaped face was gentle, non-threatening, his eyes a dusky green. His loosely cut hair played in awkward, sandy waves about his brown flannel collar. Even when seated, Mark could tell Denton at least matched his height of just over six feet. But he seemed slighter somehow, perhaps narrower around the shoulders, Mark noted with an inherent touch of competition.

  Denton opened his pouty mouth to speak. 'You wanted to see me?'

  'Yes, and I'd ask you to have a seat, but it looks like you've already taken mine,' Mark said, trying not to let his irritation show.

  Cathy straightened the jacket of her conservative cashmere suit and backed out of the room.

  'Oh yeah, hey, sorry.'

  He got up and moved to the drab olive sofa facing Mark's desk.

  Mark made himself comfortable in his chair, reminding himself to remain distanced. This was professional protocol and whatever Denton had said in that letter was, theoretically, unrelated.

  'What can you tell me about Ana Kane?' he said, unfolding Ana's dossier.

  Denton seemed unnerved by the sight of the folder. 'What is it exactly you think I know?'

  'What I think is beside the point.'

  The word bastard was written all over Denton’s face, but he didn’t say it.


  Mark gave him a steely look. Ana, the letter began. No 'dear,' just Ana. I know this won’t be easy...

  'All right, all right. Give me a break. It's not like I had anything to do with her disappearance. We were an item, okay? For maybe ten years, counting the time in Spain. And then it got stale like things sometimes do. She was pushy, I guess.'

  Mark looked at him, trying to discern what Ana had seen. 'A woman who knows what she wants.'

  'You could look at it that way,' Scott said, being noncommittal.

  'And you're not it.'

  Denton flushed a purplish-red.

  'Suffice it to say, you and Miss Kane wanted different things out of life.'

  'Very.'

  'What about her family?'

  'Mother's from Spain, but lives in Delaware where Ana grew up. Classy lady, but tough.'

  'Like mother, like daughter?'

  'I guess.'

  'Father?'

  'Never met him. Old man had a heart attack. She never did get over it.'

  'That's a tough one, losing your father.'

  Denton looked distant for a moment. 'Yeah well, you know what they say, shit happens. Sometimes you've just got to deal with it and move on.'

  'Like you dealt with your relationship by moving on to Guatemala?'

  He flushed red again. It was becoming a habit. 'What exactly do you want me to say? That I fucked up?'

  'No one's casting any stones.'

  'Bullshit. You've been pelting me ever since you walked in.'

  Mark changed his tack, looking for something a little more productive. 'What were you doing in Spain?'

  'Oh, so we're on to me now, are we?'

  'Just answer the question.' There were some odd gaps in Denton’s file.

  'Studying. What the hell do you think? I was on an exchange program.'

  'For two years? That was some exchange.'

  'So I liked it enough to go the extra year. Big deal.'

  Mark wondered. 'Ever talk to anyone at the Embassy?'

  Scott wriggled like a fish on a line. 'No.'

  'Ever get approached by a member of the U.S. Government?'

  'What do you mean by that?' Denton asked, looking every bit as if he knew.

  'You were a normal kid. Right?'

  'Whatever that means.'

  'That means you were normal, hung out with the crowd, got around.'

  'Sure, I got around.'

  'Got to know people –'

  'Yeah, I got to know people. Last time I checked, knowing people's not a crime. Not even in Spain.'

  '– and some of the people you knew liked to party.'

  'Yeah, Neal, party hardy. College kids doing college stuff. No biggie.'

  'Hmm.'

  'Can I go now?' He rose to his feet, his bony knees cracking.

  'Not so fast.'

  'Look, you brought me here to ask about Ana right? So I told you. I see you've got her file. Hell, you probably learned more about her in three days than I did in nine years.'

  Mark would bet on it. He would also bet his hunch was right on. Denton had been doing more than studying that second year. He had been a paid informant for the Drug Enforcement Administration. Someone eager to turn a buck. Someone with nowhere better to go. Someone naive enough to be pressed into deadly service. He’d been one of the nameless, faceless student narcs whose vital information had landed on Mark's desk when, as a new DEA Narcotics Analyst, he’d been assigned to track drug trafficking patterns in Spain over nine years ago.

  Mark stood and looked him squarely in the eye. 'Does the term confidential informant mean anything to you?'

  Denton tightened his bottom lip and said nothing.

  'Bet you about a million pesetas it does,' Mark said, tucking Ana's file under his arm and motioning to Cathy to resume her post as he exited the room.

  Mark entered Cromwell's office, his temperature and intonation rising. 'Sir, you and I have a thing or two to discuss.'

  'Two things, I'd say.' Cromwell pulled out a handkerchief to wipe his glasses.

  'Why didn't you tell me Denton informed for the DEA?'

  'Tell you, Mark? Of all people, I reasoned you'd figure it out.' Cromwell huffed onto his lenses. He seemed to be having trouble getting them clean.

  'Sir, I don't see how Denton can be of much use to us here.'

  'Agreed.'

  'He doesn't seem to know much more about Ana than we do. Besides, the guy's got an attitude.'

  'About Ana?'

  'About life. I say we ship him back to the Peace Corps where he belongs. The man must have some salvageable skills.'

  Cromwell smiled that old, familiar omnipotent grin. 'True. And gleaning information from Spanish nationals is quite an asset.'

  'Hold on a second. You're not for a minute consider–'

  'This is my call. Denton has experience as a covert informant – in Iberia, son. He also has a personal stake.'

  'I don't mean to question your judgement –'

  'Then don't.'

  Mark rubbed his temples. There had to be a way out. 'Is there no one else from DOS?'

  'Mark, you're the sharpest man I've got. You can think on your feet. You'll keep the other two flying straight.'

  'McFadden's a loose cannon.'

  'That's just what he wants you to think.'

  'He does a damn good job.'

  'He's a damn good operator.'

  Mark's day just kept getting better. It was all starting to make sense. McFadden's assignment to the Embassy, seemingly out of nowhere, but conveniently at his Uncle's behest. McFadden's combative demeanor and disparaging remarks about DOD.

  Cromwell read his face. 'Yes, Mark. McFadden's our company man in Costa Negra.'

  'CIA, sir? CIA? He's such a wild card!'

  'Great cover. None of this low-profile stuff. Completely threw the rebels off guard.'

  There was a light rapping at Cromwell's door.

  Joe McFadden swaggered in, a nasty grin above the reddish beard that was now coming in strong.

  Mark lunged and grabbed him by his denim collar.

  'You piss-poor excuse for an agent,' he said, muscling McFadden back into the wall. 'Damn near got her killed –'

  Joe shook himself free. 'Look, Neal, I damn near got my own ass killed trying to stand in the way of her bullets. Do you think for a minute that I wanted it to happen? What's gotten into you?'

  Cromwell had not moved from his chair.

  'Joe, why don't you let me finish up with Mark. Have Cathy buzz Pete. He can show you around.'

  Joe shrugged and backed out of the room, never taking a wary eye off of Mark.

  'And shut the door!' Mark shouted after him, but a little too late.

  Cromwell finally gave up on his glasses and put them down. 'You're going to have to check that killer instinct at the airport.'

  'I apologize for the outburst, sir. It's just that McFadden was the one assigned to prevent all this.' Christ, and Mooney said their CIA placement had been recalled to Washington.

  'Don't be too hard on McFadden. From what I hear, Miss Kane is the kind who was going to do what she was going to do. I don't think a whole platoon could have stopped her from making that trip.'

  'What's the Ambassador's role in this?'

  'It's legitimate, but not just familial.'

  'Sir?'

  'Mooney’s one of the old boys.'

  Mark sat down on one of Cromwell's office chairs, head in hands, elbows resting on his knees. He shook his head, slowly feeling his wind return. Mooney was original DOS. No wonder he seemed uncomfortable when Mark had supposed his liaison with Cromwell.

  'So the company's letting McFadden go?' Mark asked.

  'If he's half the bastard you think he is, maybe they're happy to let him go.'

  'Very funny, chief. What's the angle?'

  'Well, obviously, this has become quite personal for McFadden. He did, in effect, let Miss Kane slip through his fingers, and, in spite of what he says, very much holds himself accountabl
e.'

  'Okay, fine. So McFadden has the background and the personal stake. And he's got the language, sir. That makes Denton excess baggage.'

  'Denton's got connections.'

  'We're professionals, sir. McFadden and I will make them.'

  'Making takes time. A commodity we may not have.'

  'But, sir, Denton's contacts are sure to be stale by now. They're almost ten years old.'

  'Times change, people don't. Especially in Spain. He'll reconnect, I assure you. He's got the knack, fits in. You and Joe, if you'll pardon me saying so, are going to stick out like sore thumbs.'

  'Okay, maybe you're right. Maybe we could use him. I’ll take McFadden with me if that’s how it’s got to be.

  'We’ll anchor Denton in the south where he can tap those old channels and feed us information.'

  'No can do.'

  'Sir?' 'Keep talking. You just want Denton out of sight and out of your operational mind set. It will never work. He is only valuable if he stays with you. What if he learns something and your communications are cut? What if he picks up some innuendo in the language Joe would miss because his Spanish training was in Latin America?'

  'What if he takes a bullet?'

  'That's a chance we'll have to take.'

  'Denton's expendable?'

  'If it comes to that.'

  Mark considered the set-up. Every operation needs a guinea pig, that front line man. But why Denton? Mark studied Cromwell a long while trying to pick up a whiff of an answer. But the old man was stoic.

  'How long will it take to get Denton cleared?'

  'Clearances are in, new identities in place. You'll all be carrying the proforma paperwork. Cathy has the passports and sheets. Be sure Denton studies his bios before you go.'

  'Bios?'

  'I'm sending you each with an extra set of papers, just in case. Carnova's men are sharp. Depending on how long it takes, you may need the second set.'

  'I don't want to beleaguer a point, but I'm a good sole operator.'

  'I know you are, Mark. But there's a danger in that. You know as well as I do a one-man show's too easy to knock off its feet.' Cromwell looked pensive for a moment. Then in a fit of fury grabbed his glasses off the desk and twisted their metal frames. Mark was startled by his sudden shift in composure and the creeping anger in his voice.