Night Moves

by DJ Steele

  Your destination is 600 yards ahead on left.

  Laquita reached over and twisted the volume knob on the car's dashboard to off.

  "That woman telling us directions was gitten’ on my last nerve," Laquita's voice unsteady.

  Julia felt the same way. If Laquita hadn't turned the volume off, she was going to.

  In the motel lot Julia spotted a tall slim man wearing jeans and a suit jacket, probably not much older than her. He was resting one hand on his hip and holding a drink in the other. Standing next to the slim man was a large Black police officer with a camera in his hand and a woman in a white jumpsuit, surgical gloves and a mask dangling around her neck. A short stocky man was pointing toward the upstairs. The side stairs to the upper level were marked off with yellow crime scene tape. Across the street a young woman holding an iPad followed by a man with a camera resting on his shoulder were being held back by an officer who was built like a sumo-wrestler.

  Julia's pulse quickened. Was there crime scene tape on Room 205? It had to be another room. In this part of town, crime was on the news every night. Her eyes searched toward the upstairs of the motel as the car edged closer. She wasn’t close enough to see which room the short stocky man was pointing toward. Traffic was at a crawl.

  "We gotta turn around," Laquita said.

  Suddenly, the brake lights flashed from the vehicle in front. Julia observed the sumo-wrestler officer blocking the road. A police car pulled into the middle of the street blocking traffic from entering. All traffic was being turned around. They were closing off the street.

  She was almost to the exact spot she parked yesterday where she had an unobstructed view of room 205. Only now a white van with Channel 7 posted on the side was blocking her view. If only they had gotten here a few minutes earlier. Should I ask the officer directing vehicles to turn around what was going on?

  Julia pulled up as close to the officer as he would allow and hung her head out the window.

  "Excuse me officer, I was wondering if it was possible…." Her words froze in her throat. Shit. Laquita’s friend was right.

  "Miss, I need you to turn around now. This street is closed to all traffic," the officer said as he leaned toward her car window.

  "Yes sir. I’m sorry. I was just in a hurry to get across town."

  Julia sat back against the car seat and slouched. They wouldn’t be able to see if it was indeed room 205 where the crime had been committed. At least not till the evening news. That didn’t matter. She saw what she needed to see. The car the husband got out of yesterday was still in the parking lot. A wave of dread swept over her.

  Julia needed to hurry back to her office. She had a lot of questions for Kat Lejeune.

  Laquita read her mind. "What time ya meetin’ that wife? You think she had her husband murdered?"

  Julia searched for the appropriate response. "I don’t know what to think. If she did, then why would she have us at the scene of the crime?"

  "Maybe to frame us."

  "Frame us for what? I don’t think that makes sense."

  "What if that man we saw yesterday was the killer?" Laquita put her hands between her knees. "What if he seen us and now he’s gonna track us down and kill us?"

  Julia’s mind was preoccupied with trying to sort out what had happened as she began a slow U-turn to head back in the direction she came. "Let’s keep our heads, Laquita. We need to check the news stations and social media."

  Laquita’s head bobbed. Her hand rubbed the scar on the side of her forehead.

  "Right now, I think we don’t have enough information," Julia’s voice faltered.

  She wondered the same thing as Laquita. The man leaving the motel room might have been the murderer. There were too many questions and not enough answers. They could be potential witnesses. She needed to figure out their next move. When she sorted it out, they could go to the police and tell them what they knew.

  A loud explosion caused the car to jolt and shake like there had been an earthquake. Julia slammed on the brake pedal. Her knuckles turned white from the stranglehold on the steering wheel trying to keep the car straight. A good thing she wasn’t moving fast and Laquita had her seatbelt on. In the rear-view mirror she could see people running in all directions away from the motel. Plumes of white smoke billowed into the sky.

  A look passed between her and Laquita. Neither one could speak. Laquita clutched her big pocketbook tight against her chest.

  Julia pulled around a car in front of her and pressed the accelerator to the floor.

  What the hell was going on?

  Kat Lejeune had a lot of explaining to do.

  She couldn’t get back to the office fast enough.

  Chapter Six

  Fairmont Chateau

  Lake Louise, Canada

  * * *

  Gingerly lifting his muscular arm draped across her hip, she slid out from under the warmth of the duvet. He stirred slightly. At the foot of the four-poster bed, she bent down and picked up the plush bathrobe lying on the floor and covered her naked body.

  The man’s hand patted her side of the bed. "Come back to bed," the man urged in a groggy voice. He slung the cover back. His deep-set eyes full of intensity zeroed in on her face.

  Her eyes slowly roamed his body. The passing years had deepened the lines on his handsome face. He was slim with broad shoulders. Solid. Pectorals defined from days spent in a gym.

  "No time. I have to get back to D.C.," she responded with a coy smile. "I have things I need to check on."

  "You’re the best lover I’ve ever had," he said as his lips twisted into a smile. "Come back to bed."

  "You need to work on your lying skills, Alec. Women spies are not easily deceived, you know."

  She tied the robe and padded toward the bathroom.

  The suite was one of the finest in the hotel Fairmont Chateau, a suite that featured a spacious living area along with a secluded bedroom and a luxurious ensuite bath. The suite had stunning views of Lake Louise, the Victoria Glacier and the surrounding mountain range from its private balcony. It was an ideal accommodation to decompress and recover from her gunshot wound. That was what she told him.

  "Did I tell you too many secrets during our passionate love-making?" the man teased.

  "No," she answered, deadpan. "We both know if you did, it would not be good for your health." Standing in the bathroom doorway she kept her back to his prying eyes as the robe slithered down her body. She brushed her pearl white hair back allowing it to drape down the middle of her back.

  Her fifty-year-old lover was twelve years younger. He had the same weakness as most spies she used to get information from—sex. Alec was a Russian spy who lived in Berlin when she first met him. He knew Elke had once worked for the CIA in her younger years. Now, Elke worked for herself.

  When she contacted Alec about spending a weekend with him in Canada, Elke pretended she missed him and needed time to recoup. Alec did not hesitate to accept her invitation. He arranged for them to stay at the Fairmont Chateau. Elke knew the spy wanted information on what she knew surrounding a plot against the United States and its leaders. That was okay. She had her own agenda.

  Two trained liars.

  One, old school.

  But the playbook on how to manipulate sources had remained the same.

  * * *

  The coded message she received this morning was unsettling. Elke needed to get back to D.C. ASAP. She had expected to extract more information from the spy, but now, time was of the essence. Alec was good at answering her questions with something unrelated. Perhaps her expertise in counterintelligence was slipping. There was a time she could read people and determine their motivation and vulnerabilities with relative ease. She had once been the CIA’s best covert officer. Until her cover was blown on an assignment that resulted in the death of innocent people.

  Time had not healed those wounds. That was the problem with an eidetic memory. Those murders were still fresh in her mind. What happened to he
r three decades ago still seemed like yesterday.

  It started when she had discovered there was a mole in the CIA. An agency she had once trusted. Since that day, Elke never allowed herself to trust anybody. Or any agency. She learned that in the subterranean world of clandestine operatives, officers would eventually be betrayed. Now, she was a lone wolf with loyalty to none. When she needed more intel, she relied on the Bridge Club.

  The Bridge Club was a group of disgruntled retired CIA spies living around the world. They used old Cold War tactics to collect and disseminate information. Their intimate knowledge of the agencies they had worked for and their willingness to skirt the edges of legality made them not just dangerous, but lethal. The old spies knew the true threat to the United States was, as it had always been, Russia. U.S. spy agencies had become distracted. They were focused on terrorism, the Middle East, al-Qaida, North Korea and ISIS. Whereas Illegals, unregistered Russian assets, never lost their focus on America.

  The President was foolish to think his task force, headed up by Speaker of the House, Alan Wagner and the FBI, could unearth the Russian asset. The Russians were already a step ahead. They had anticipated failure. That was why the attempt on the President and Vice President’s life was made to look like the assassin was a jihadist inspired by the Islamic State. Sowing chaos. Stroking fear of immigrants and minorities.

  A nuisance to the Russians was the Bridge Club. Especially Elke. A nuisance they wanted to eliminate.

  The CIA had trained her. Now she worked outside their rules. Unlike the Bridge Club, she didn’t skirt the edges of legality, she disregarded the law if it got in the way of her mission. The CIA knew she often broke the law, yet the agency chose to look the other way. In the past, Elke had provided them with valuable information, a relationship they didn’t want to jeopardize.

  In the shower, the warm water cascaded over her body and loosened the tension in her muscles. Her body relaxed for a minute. The message she received earlier indicated her granddaughter might be in danger. That message triggered those maternal instincts to protect Julia.

  She wished she had brought her cigars. It was stupid to promise her granddaughter she’d give up smoking. Smoking was not what was going to kill her. She turned off the water and stepped out of the over-sized marble enclosed shower onto the tile floor. She heard voices coming from the bedroom.

  Is Alec on the phone?

  No.

  She heard two voices, Alec and a female. The woman's voice was coolly authoritative.

  Elke inwardly shuddered.

  She thought for a moment about what to do.

  "Elke dear. Do not keep us waiting much longer," the woman raised her voice to make sure Elke heard.

  She slipped the robe on, took the weapon hidden in her make-up case and put it in the robe pocket. She caught a glimpse of herself in the bathroom mirror. Her deep blue eyes now framed with sagging eyelids. Despite having a personal trainer and a facelift five years ago, time was catching up with her. Her hand pushed under her robe till her fingers brushed over the scar, a physical reminder of how close she came to death.

  She clipped her long thick silver hair up in a bun, tightened the tie on the robe and walked out of the bathroom.

  The woman did not look familiar. She stood near the bed with a pistol trained on Alec.

  "You do not look surprised." The woman's cold gaze was piercing. Her voice professional. "I finally get to meet the infamous Elke?"

  Elke studied the woman assassin. It was odd how different an assassin looked compared to TV shows. Her clothes were more befitting of a college student. A rose-colored pullover sweater and skinny jeans tucked into brown ankle boots. Not the all black ninja outfits assassins wore in a Hollywood film. A beige beanie pulled back at an angle on her head revealing short black bangs highlighting her ivory skin. Her face free of make-up. She could be young. It was getting harder to tell the age of people the older Elke got. They all looked young these days. The assassin had an assertive posture. Confident.

  "Did you think we’d leave you alone Elke?" the assassin taunted.

  "You should. I'm no longer a threat to your country." Elke replied. Her eyes bored into the woman. "You look very familiar."

  The dark eyed assassin smiled. "You are too old to know me. This is a different time. Technology has changed the spy game."

  "I no longer work for the CIA," Elke said as she sized up the woman pointing the pistol at Alec.

  "We know." The assassin motioned toward a chair on the far side of the room with her pistol. "Sit down Elke. You look tired."

  Elke walked across the room, sat in the chair, and folded her hands on her lap. "Could you put the gun down so we can work this out?"

  "Shut up," the assassin barked, "I don't want to shoot you."

  "Then you’re not going to kill me?" Elke mocked.

  "Don't play dumb, bitch," the assassin’s tone hardened as she became agitated. "You know why I'm here, Elke. We need to know what information you have shared with the American spy agencies."

  Elke noticed Alec shifting in the bed. He was nervous. This was not good.

  Alec’s chest heaved up and down.

  "You are a traitor to your country, Alec. I will find pleasure in pulling the trigger to end your life," the assassin voice edgy with contempt.

  "Now I remember," Elke's voice rising as she stood.

  The assassin swung the pistol toward Elke. "Sit back down. Now. Or you will be the first to die."

  "I do know you," Elke said as she eased back into the chair, turning slightly and crossing her legs, hoping the assassin didn't notice her hand had slipped inside the robe pocket. Her slender finger eased back the hammer of the gun. Alec’s face rigid with fear.

  "That is a lie. You say that to distract me. Who do you think I am? What is my name?"

  "I speak the truth. It’s like looking in a mirror. You are me, from many years ago."

  "We are nothing alike," the assassin replied with a sharp laugh.

  "You are right. I’m not an assassin. My expertise is… well ask Alec. He can give you the details."

  The assassin’s dark eyes narrowed and hardened.

  "But do you know how we are alike?" Elke quizzing, taunting.

  "Do not speak anymore," shouted the assassin. She aimed the pistol toward Elke’s head.

  Elke continued despite the woman's warning, "We’ve both been betrayed by the agency we worked for."

  "Shut up. Mother Russia does not betray those loyal to her."

  "Your agency identified Alec as a double agent working for the CIA." Elke’s palm inside the robe pocket cradled the grip on the revolver, the metal trigger snug against her finger. She eased the slack out of the trigger. "You said I didn't look surprised. That’s because a mole in your agency warned Alec."

  The assassin spun toward Alec.

  Shots cracked the air.

  Chapter Seven

  Two Weeks Earlier

  * * *

  Alan Wagner, Speaker of the House, sat on a couch directly across from the President in the West Wing of the White House. The Commander in Chief had entrusted him to form a task force to expose the deep-cover Russian asset they believed to be a threat to national security.

  "All roads lead to Moscow, Alan," the President told him.

  Fear had run down his spine when the President confided that he personally believed the traitor was somebody the President knew. Wagner, unsure if the President was pointing a finger at him decided at the time to play along.

  "What are your suspicions, Mr. President?" he asked, watching for telltale signs on the President’s face.

  "A confidential informant told the AG that the suicide bomber was a Muslim American who served in the Army doing tours in Afghanistan and Syria. He was given an honorable discharge five years ago. Somewhere along the way he was radicalized."

  "I’m glad you didn’t put sanctions on Russia following the attempt on your life." Wagner felt his heart rate slow allowing him to take a deep cal
ming breath.

  "Hell, I didn’t put sanctions on Russia because of your arm-twisting," the President countered. "There’s no way the attempt on my life and the vice president was carried out by a lone terrorist. We were attending the Vice President's wife's funeral for God sakes when the suicide bomber denotated his vest. The CIA believes the only way the bomber got that close to the funeral was because somebody was helping him. They suspect those Russian bastards have infiltrated our inner circle."

  Wagner felt a sledgehammer pounding against his chest. He knew the FBI was going to bust through the door of the Oval Office at any moment.

  The President continued, "I think not imposing sanctions was the right call without having any hard evidence the Russians were behind this. At the time, all we had was a dead Russian handler and a friend of yours telling you there was an agent of influence that might threaten our national security. Your friend believed the Russians were involved and, at the time, I wanted to believe it was ISIS. There are many who want to destroy our country, Alan, but I’m convinced somebody is working in influential areas of our government and feeding the Russians intelligence. We have to be cautious. That’s why I wanted you, Alan, to be personally involved in the investigative task force. I need somebody I can trust."

  Wagner leaned forward. A pent-up breath escaped his lips.

  "My God Alan. You look like you just saw a ghost. Are you okay?"

  Swallowing hard, Wagner forced himself to keep eye contact. "Yes sir, I'm fine. It’s just…well, unsettling to think there’s a Russian mole that might be operating within one of our most trusted agencies." I’ve got to get a grip. The President doesn’t suspect anything so quit acting guilty.

  "Damn Alan, you know there are more spies in the U.S. capital than any other city in the world. At least a thousand. Moscow has ramped up their spying through misinformation warfare and cyber-attacks to undermine our country’s strength. We must find this bastard. We’re in a new Cold War with Russia."