Laynie Portland, Spy Resurrected

by Vikki Kestell

  Svitlanya Davydenko’s email had been short and concise.

  Director Wolfe,

  We have satisfied our part of the bargain. Below you will find the location of a refrigerated semitrailer. Your people may pick up and catalog the bodies, each one tagged with the name he or she used while operating in the US.

  Cordially,

  SD

  Wolfe continued. “Next, AGFA’s primary stronghold in Chechnya. Our assault team assisted Russian troops in storming their cave system and removing every individual from it before the Russian demo team blew it up. Among those rescued were eleven Kurdish and two Azerbaijani young women. The US State Department, in conjunction with the Russian government, has repatriated them back to their families.”

  Wolfe looked up from his notes. “I have here, handwritten notes from the families of two of those girls, Asmeen and Mariam, to Bella. They and their families are grateful to you, Bella, for rescuing their daughters, for the friendship and love you showed them, and for the hope you instilled in them while you were incarcerated with them in a most hopeless situation.”

  Laynie couldn’t speak, and she couldn’t hold back joyous tears.

  “Wait. Hold up, Director.” Brian, of course. “I’m confused.”

  “Not the first time,” Rusty quipped. “Not the last either.”

  “Really, Rust Bucket? Sheesh. Give it a rest already. Sorry, Director. We can’t take him anywhere.”

  “Get on with it, Brian,” Jaz nudged him.

  “Yeah. Okay. Director, you said our assault team operated on Russian soil? How in the world did the Russians agree to that?”

  Seraphim stepped forward. Choosing her words carefully, she said, “It seems that an influential Russian politician was instrumental in authorizing a joint operation against AGFA’s stronghold.”

  Rusty frowned in concentration, then guffawed. “Wait a sec. That Russian politician wasn’t in the US recently, was he? Saved from a horrible assassination attempt?”

  Amid laughter, even from Seraphim and Wolfe, Seraphim recovered her composure and replied, “I can neither confirm nor deny your assertions, Rusty, nor would I ever suggest that a member of our task force played a role in averting said alleged assassination attempt.”

  She was smiling. Wolfe smiled with her. The team high-fived.

  “Good one, Seraphim!” Rusty grinned.

  “Yeah, but what about AGFA’s head guy, Sayed? What happened to him?” Brian. Again.

  Wolfe consulted his notes. “Our team’s after action report states, and I quote, ‘Mohammed Eldar Sayed, leader of the most volatile arm of AGFA, perished in the battle to take his mountain stronghold.’”

  “And the traitor, Rosenberg?”

  “This will take a few moments to unpack. Unknown to us or any of her coworkers, Dr. Bhagya Gupta, a longtime employee of our organization, converted to Islam in 1979. She returned to visit family in India several times in the succeeding years, twice for six-month sabbaticals. During those sabbaticals, also unknown to us, she crossed from India into Pakistan and then into Afghanistan.

  “We can only presume that she was radicalized and recruited during these visits and became a sleeper agent in our organization. She later studied to switch her medical specialty from gynecology to psychology.

  “When she became a counselor to our organization’s people, including active and returning operatives, she often passed on to her handlers operational details obtained during their sessions. Somehow Gupta even obtained the network logins of several high-level clients, giving her access to classified operational plans and details. It’s no wonder we had difficulty identifying the mole in my management staff.

  “At some point, she grew enamored with Sayed’s vision for a new Islamic caliphate and became his eyes and ears within our organization. When we uncovered her treason, she fled the US to Sayed, escaping our surveillance. She, too, perished in the battle to take AGFA’s mountain stronghold.”

  He looked up, smiled, and said, “That is all. Your extended leave begins today. Please report back to Griffin Industries in Germantown on Monday, February 11. You are dismissed.”

  He turned to Seraphim, and she nodded. Neither of them would ever reveal what the remainder of Fenelli’s action report had said. How Cossack had gathered the remaining young kafir women from the survivors, and suggested to the girls that they choose a fitting punishment for Mohammed Eldar Sayed and Halima bint Abra.

  It had taken the girls only a few minutes to tell Cossack what they had decided. They accompanied Cossack and Fenelli back into the caves, leading the two Russian soldiers who held Sayed and Gupta in their custody. They marched to what had been the kafir women’s cell. Then to the cistern.

  The girls had insisted that the Russian soldiers lower Sayed and a screaming, cursing Gupta into the cistern rather than throw them in. The grate across the kafir women’s cell would be locked—just in case Sayed or Gupta somehow managed to climb out of the cistern—but the girls wanted Sayed and Gupta alive after the demolition team brought down the cavern and the tunnels leading to the surface.

  At the girls’ insistence, the demolition team—experts in their field—promised not to blow the tunnels beyond the cavern. Sayed and Gupta would have ample time to think on their crimes before dehydration ended them.

  Wolfe and Seraphim had decided to keep that portion of the after action report to themselves.

  JAZ SAT DOWN AT HER desk and started to repair her smudged makeup. Wolfe sidled up to her and perched on the corner of her desk. She looked up from a mirror, guileless and unflappable, but he could tell that she knew exactly why he was there.

  “Director Wolfe, sir. So many great outcomes. And I’m really glad you, Tobin, and Bella made it home safely.”

  “Me, too, Miss Jessup. Me, too.”

  A half-empty pack of Black Jack gum and several empty wrappers lay near her keyboard. He picked up the pack of gum and sniffed it.

  “Licorice, yes?”

  “Close enough. Anise or aniseed. It’s an acquired taste. Care to try it?”

  He put the gum down and smiled amiably. “Care to guess who I spoke to a couple days ago while we were in Germany and Bella was in the hospital getting treated?”

  “No, sir. Should I know?”

  “I think you could probably come close. Try this—the Assistant Director in Charge of the FBI’s New York field office. He’d already left three voice mails, but as I was rather preoccupied with getting Bella out of AGFA’s stronghold and then to a hospital, I didn’t return his call right away. However, it’s not generally a good omen when the Assistant Director in Charge of an FBI field office rings you up—repeatedly.”

  She didn’t so much as blink or flick a brow. “Huh. I suppose it had to have been important?”

  “It was. Seems their IT department suffered some form of cyberattack a week or so back. Their cybersecurity specialists have been in a furor ever since, trying to figure out why someone would start a full backup of their files. Remotely.”

  Jaz frowned. “Right. Why would someone do that?”

  “They didn’t know either, but since it was the same IT department where the encrypted Ukrainian financial records are stored—in a secure directory of their own—they were concerned it was an attempt to delete them. Very concerned.”

  “Whoa. Did someone actually manage to purge the mob’s files?”

  “No, they’re still there.”

  “Whew. Glad to hear it. I assume the FBI’s security is pretty tight.”

  Wolfe picked up one of the gum wrappers, unfolded it, refolded it.

  Oh, we can do this little dance all day, Miss Jessup. Frankly, I’m rather enjoying it. Learning a few things, too.

  “The ADIC did say one of their best IT guys noticed something . . . a touch off concerning the mob’s files.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Well, seems that they had recorded the exact size of the directory and all its files—right down to the smallest increment. You
know, megabytes, kilobytes, and plain ol’ bytes and tiny bits? Not a thing had changed. The directory had all the right files with the right file names, nothing misspelled, the correct date and time stamp on the directory and files, and so on.

  “But here’s where things got interesting. When they went to look at the backup tape from the week previous—”

  “Did the hackers steal files from the backup tape? Wow. I didn’t think you could to that!”

  “No, that’s not what they found.”

  But great deflection, Miss Jessup. I’m impressed.

  “No, instead, they found that the entire backup had been erased. Completely, I’m told. Unrecoverable.”

  Jaz was frowning. “The hackers purged a backup tape. What does that get them?”

  “Not sure, but here’s what their best IT guy did notice, the single difference—one file on the FBI’s drive belonging to the Ukrainian mob, just one mind you, was smaller than it should have been.”

  “What?”

  You’re a little too surprised, Miss Jessup. Did you honestly make a mistake? Maybe I should log the date and time. Have it witnessed. And notarized.

  “The size was off by a single byte, I’m told.”

  “A byte? That’s not right. Shouldn’t have changed at all. Period. Do they need help figuring out what happened?”

  “Do you mean did they call me to ask for your help?”

  Jaz shrugged. “Just a thought. It is my area of expertise.”

  “Huh.”

  “Sir?”

  He stared at her.

  She stared back. All innocence.

  “Well, I was just glad to tell the ADIC, with utter confidence, that no one working for me would have ever attempted a breach of their systems.”

  “No, sir.”

  “Nor would anyone working for me have ever reached out to the new head of the Ukrainian mob or cut a deal with them in order to, say, save one of our own.”

  “Sir, I can promise you that no one working on this task force reached out to the Ukrainians.”

  I remember quite clearly, Director, that Svitlanya Davydenko contacted me, not the other way around. Sure, Tobin made me promise to keep my hands off until his god “acted.” Well, I did that.

  Wait. Did I just admit . . .

  Wolfe was impressed with how Jaz handled herself. Yes, you are good at this, Vyper. A little parsing of the words, and you’re telling me your version of the truth. I’m rather pleasantly surprised.

  “We need to talk about your future with us, Miss Jessup. We could, with proper field training, expand the scope of your duties.”

  “Sir?”

  “You lie with the best of us professional liars. We should make better use of you.”

  Postscript

  THEY WERE A DAY EARLY, and Laynie hoped it wouldn’t be a problem, but she just couldn’t wait another day. Another minute. She, Tobin, and Ksenia waited on the front porch for someone to answer the doorbell.

  Laynie was suitably impressed with the house—and they’d only seen the exterior.

  This isn’t a house. It’s a few bricks shy of a mansion.

  “This here might not be a mansion, but it’s within shoutin’ distance,” Tobin muttered, like he’d been in her head.

  Laynie grinned. She didn’t mind him “in her head.” They had spent hours, while she was in the hospital, on the flight from Germany to the US, and while they were at Broadsword, just talking. Laynie had shared what Jesus had done inside Sayed’s stronghold. Tobin mostly listened, but he did tell her about Jaz’s prayer.

  He grinned back and placed a tender hand on her lower back. Just a touch that said, “I’ma with ya, Marta-Bella-Laynie-Elaine. Got yer back. Always will.”

  Ksenia looked up at Tobin. For her, the transition from an orphaned slave locked in a cell inside Sayed’s stronghold to the hope of a loving family in America was—and probably would be for a while to come—overwhelming.

  Tobin chucked her chin gently—very, very gently. “You okay, squirt?”

  Ksenia knew “okay” and Tobin’s pet name for her. From the moment Laynie had introduced them, it had been “squirt.”

  “Okay,” she answered and smiled tentatively.

  Lord, you will help us, Laynie prayed. Ruth will help us, too. This is her gifting, by your grace helping hurting women. She will be your hand, guiding us through troubled waters as Ksenia’s heart and body heal.

  The door opened with an excited jerk. Shannon stood there, her eyes flitting from Laynie to Ksenia to Tobin, back to Ksenia, so excited she was practically vibrating.

  “You weren’t supposed to be here today!”

  “Hi Shannon,” Laynie said. “I know we’re early. May we come in anyway?”

  “Oh. Oh, sure.” She stepped back, still staring at Ksenia.

  Under Shannon’s scrutiny, Ksenia cast her eyes down, onto her feet.

  It will take a while for that behavior to change, Laynie thought, but with love, it will change.

  Laynie reached out and hugged Shannon as tight as she could. “I’m so glad to see you again, sweetheart.”

  Shannon gulped. “Me too, Aunt Laynie. I never wanted to come back here for Christmas if you weren’t ever going to be here with us.”

  “Here I am. God has been good to me.”

  She let Shannon go and said, “I believe you’ve met Marshal Tobin?”

  “Oh, yeah. Hi.”

  “Hey, Shannon.”

  “And, Shannon, this is Ksenia. I brought her home with me from Russia.”

  Laynie spoke to Ksenia, introducing Shannon. Ksenia raised her face and nodded at Shannon.

  “Hi, Ksenia. I’m twelve. How old are you?”

  Laynie interpreted. A pained expression came over Ksenia’s face as she answered.

  “We’re not certain yet, Shannon, but we’ll get it figured out. Let’s call it either fourteen or fifteen for now, okay?”

  “I . . . okay. What language are you talking to her?”

  “Russian.”

  Shannon went goggle-eyed. “You speak Russian? Like real Russian?”

  Ksenia didn’t know what was going on, but she giggled at Shannon’s pop-eyed astonishment.

  “I speak Russian, Swedish, Spanish, a little German, and horrible French. You do not want to hear my French. Where is everyone?”

  “Oh! In the kitchen. I’ll get them!” She ran off, hollering as she went, “Mom! Dad! Aunt Laynie’s here!”

  Within moments, Laynie’s entire family was gathered around her, hugging, crying, rejoicing. Laynie kept Ksenia tucked safely under her still-healing arm with Tobin on Ksenia’s other side, his arm around Ksenia, too—a little Ksenia sandwich with Laynie and Tobin as the bread.

  Then Laynie began introductions. “Mama, Dad? This is Ksenia.” She repeated the intros in Russian. Ksenia, prompted, said carefully, “Hello. Nice to meet you.”

  From her wheelchair, Polly reached for Ksenia and patted her hand. “You are a beautiful young lady, Ksenia.”

  Laynie translated. Then she took a deep breath and smiled.

  “Everyone? We have happy news. While we were in Germany, Quincy and I decided to adopt Ksenia. Together. It was a bit tricky at the outset, but the base chaplain helped us. We’ve already started the paperwork to make her ours.”

  Her parents and Kari stuttered, but Shannon embraced the idea instantly.

  “You and Quincy are adopting Ksenia? Like Mama and Dad adopted me and Robbie?”

  “Yup. Just like that.”

  “Cool! Well then, does that mean you and Quincy are getting married?”

  Laynie laughed at Tobin’s chagrin. “Oh, goodness! I’m sorry. I guess I blew it. Skipped ahead. Cart before horse? That was the tricky part of our paperwork, wrangling a special license, changing my last name to Tobin.”

  She smiled bigger. “Because, you see, we already got married.”

  The End

  (What’s Next?)

  MY DEAR READERS,

  As of this wri
ting, I haven’t decided on my next book. Will it be Rose of RiverBend, the conclusion of my Prairie Heritage series, or Daughter of Stealth, the fifth Nanostealth book? How do you feel about a madcap, disaster-prone, middle-aged romance, Prickly As a Cactus, Thorny As a Rose? Take my survey here and let me know what you think!

  While I haven’t yet decided which book I’ll be writing next, God willing, I know when it will come out—June 2, 2021. I wrote my first book, A Rose Blooms Twice, in 1988 and did not publish it until 2012. From 2013 forward, I wrote pretty much nonstop, publishing seventeen novels and two short stories in seven years. So, between now and the new year, I’ll be taking a much-needed sabbatical, catching up on life. Then back to the work I love!

  By the way, if you have not read the full, inspiring tale of the Thoresen family—a story that spans generations and concludes with Kari and Laynie finding each other—you will uncover all the answers to your questions in my series, A Prairie Heritage. Without cost to you, read the first three, full-length books of this series on Kindle, Nook, Apple Books, or Kobo in the single volume, A Prairie Heritage, The Early Years. Interested in my other books? Page ahead to see a complete list of them.

  To keep in step with my publication schedule and receive notice of upcoming releases, I invite you to sign up for my newsletter. (I send two to four emails a year, and I promise not to spam you or sell your email address.)

  From the bottom of my heart, thank you. I appreciate your readership and the fellowship we share in Christ Jesus, our Lord.

  Many hugs,

  —Vikki Kestell, Author of Faith-Filled Fiction™

  Books by Vikki Kestell

  Nanostealth

  “Invisibility comes with its own set of problems.”

  Book 1: Stealthy Steps

  Book 2: Stealth Power

  Book 3: Stealth Retribution

  Book 4: Deep State Stealth, 2019 Selah Award winner

  A Prairie Heritage

  One family . . . steeped in the love and grace of God, indomitable in their faith, tried and tested in the fires of life, passing forward a legacy to change their world. The compelling saga of family, faith, and great courage.