There was something about his story that didn’t quite click, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. Maybe it was that she thought it was strange the GRU would pull an embedded agent to pick up a jihadist in Scandinavia, but then what did she know about how the Russian intelligence community worked?
“I was planning on grabbing him from his house, but now that you’re in on it I might actually be able to use you.”
“Me?” she squeaked. “Umm, no. Nyet. Nein. No way Jose. I’m not ‘in on’ anything, and I’m most certainly not cut out for spy work. I’m possibly the worst liar on the face of the planet. In fact, things seem nicely resolved here and I’m happy to go on as if nothing ever happened.”
Well, maybe not as if nothing had happened. She’d need to ditch her phone number of course, and maybe move apartments, ask some questions about witness protection. But he didn’t need to know that.
He jerked the Mercedes behind a rusted Crown Vic, scraping the sidewalls of the tires on the curb, and threw the gear into park before turning to her with a sober expression. The AC blew icy air between them but didn’t so much as ruffle a single hair on his perfectly gelled head. “I need your help, babe. This man is plotting to murder innocent people. I can do it on my own, but it would be easier with a second person.” He reached over and squeezed her fingers. “You have the chance to make a difference.”
Leah’s skin crawled at his touch and she hastily withdrew her hand. He’d known exactly where to strike. She’d always had a strong sense of justice and patriotic duty; it was why she’d become interested in law in the first place. She may not like the man sitting across from her, but if she could help him prevent an act of terrorism, wouldn’t it be cowardly not to? Still, she wasn’t a trained agent. She didn’t even know how she could be helpful.
He must have read her thoughts because he said, “You wouldn’t have to do much. You’d simply act as a decoy, a distraction to catch him off guard and put him in the position I want.”
She narrowed her eyes. “How exactly will I be a decoy?”
He smiled, hearing the agreement in her question before she did, and patted her shoulder in what felt like a forced gesture of reassurance. “Don’t you worry, babe. I’ll take care of everything.”
Chapter 5
Two Days Later
Loch Lomond, Scotland
The trio of sheep had wandered closer over the past twenty minutes, growing bolder with each continued moment of silence. Not a single car had passed on the winding, one-lane Scottish road where Leah was stranded with a rusted nail jammed into her tire.
“How the hell did I end up here?” she muttered to the sheep. A week ago she’d been drinking coffee in the shower while trying to one-hand text Amanda outside the curtain, and now she was in the Highlands of Scotland about to help her CIA ex-boyfriend abduct a radical jihadist.
After agreeing to help Vincente with his assignment, she’d known there was no way Amanda would willingly let her leave the country with the Roth investigation at a media-frenzy peak, so when she returned to the office that afternoon she’d lied and said her mother was sick and needed her in Pennsylvania. She hadn’t even felt guilty about the whopper after the way Amanda had ruined her vacation plans. Amanda had wanted to know if her mother had cancer. When Leah had said no, Amanda had flat-out denied her the time off.
“It’s heart surgery,” Leah had blurted. “She’s having a bypass.”
Amanda had huffed and puffed and told her she had four days, and then she’d better be back in the office holding a Frappuccino and a scooped-out bagel with hummus by the time Amanda walked through the door. If not, her mother had better be dead.
Destiny had been equally reticent about Leah’s plans, but for a different reason. When Vincente dropped Leah off at The Constitution Café the afternoon she’d discovered his true identity, she’d nearly collapsed in relief at being on solid ground again. The man was a maniac behind the wheel. After her knees stopped shaking, she walked into the café, ordered a giant glass of wine, and told Destiny she was flying to Norway the day after next.
Destiny froze with her lemon water halfway to her mouth. “Amanda’s letting you have a vacation after all?”
“I’m planning on telling her my mother is sick.”
“Good for you. You need time to get over the break up. I don’t think you ever properly grieved. Not that that bastard deserves so much as a single tear from you, but you could use with some relaxation and wine.”
Vincente had explicitly instructed Leah to say she was traveling by herself, so she should have let Destiny’s assumption stand. Instead she reflexively said, “Oh don’t worry, I’m over that jerk. That’s not why I’m going.”
Destiny’s look of mild annoyance at having been dragged from her job to discuss vacation plans turned to one of concern. She tucked her perfectly blown out hair behind her ear and drummed plum nails on the table. “What’s going on then, Leah? What’s worth leaving the country in the middle of a big murder investigation?”
“It’s a domestic assault charge,” Leah corrected her. “And it’s only in the news so much because Roth is a senator.”
Destiny’s painted lips formed a perfect O. “Oh my God, I just figured it out. You’re getting plastic surgery.”
Leah laughed. “Definitely not.”
“Then what is it? Why are you suddenly leaving to vacation solo in Norway for four days? It doesn’t make sense. Something else is going on. You sounded pretty panicked when you called.” She laid a hand over Leah’s, her eyes searching. “Are you in trouble, Lee? Tell me what it is.”
Leah avoided Destiny’s gaze by looking down at the fries on her plate. She was a terrible liar, so she stuck to the truth. “I’m not in trouble. I can’t tell you what’s going on yet, Des.” At Destiny’s hurt look she quickly added, “But I swear I’ll tell you every last detail as soon as I can.”
Destiny chewed on her lip for a moment and then gave a brief nod. “All right. But I want you to know I’m here for you, and you’d better call me if you need help. What can I do to help you before you go? Do you need a ride to the airport? Help packing? Will you call me when you arrive safely?”
Leah wanted to jump over the table and hug her friend. “I probably won’t be in touch while I’m over there, but I promise I’ll call you first thing when I get back.”
Leah reached for her wine but Destiny didn’t let go of her hand. When Leah’s eyes met her friend’s, she saw that they were troubled. “Be careful, Leah. I’m getting bad vibes about this.”
Destiny had always claimed to be partially psychic, and occasionally she would make a chilling pronouncement that more often than not came true. Leah didn’t believe in psychics, or aliens or ghosts for that matter, but Destiny’s words settled over her like a cloud of foreboding. Leah left the café with her veggie burger half eaten and anxiety creeping up her spine.
Vincente had booked separate flights for them, so at four thirty the next morning Leah arrived alone at Ronald Regan Washington Airport, bleary-eyed and clutching a paper cup of coffee. The ensuing ten-hour flight to Oslo was unsurprisingly miserable. She was kept awake the entire flight by the woman in the window seat who jostled her every ten minutes to use the bathroom. When Leah offered her the aisle seat, the woman politely declined, insisting on keeping her “lovely view.”
By the time Leah disembarked the plane she was cranky and ready for a shower and a nap. Instead, she heard her name called over the airport loud speaker in English with instructions directing her to the courtesy desk. It took her far too long to figure out which desk was the courtesy desk, as it was labeled in Norwegian. When she finally did, the clerk handed her a sealed envelope. Inside was a ticket to Glasgow on a flight that was scheduled to leave in thirty minutes.
If Vincente had been there she might have screamed. She’d just spent ten hours crammed into a coach seat on an overbooked plane; the last thing she wanted to do was hop back on a plane for another four hours. She didn’t kno
w why he had her fly into Oslo if Scotland had been the intended destination all along. Maybe he’d been afraid she would tell someone? Whatever his reasoning, she stared darkly out the window the entire way to Scotland and swore that if he had another ticket waiting for her when she landed she’d catch the first cab to a hotel and tell him to go to hell.
When she arrived at the Glasgow airport the speaker was blissfully silent. As she was collecting her luggage she spotted Vincente and the knot of tension at the back of her neck eased. He was wearing a dark cap pulled low over his eyes and a plain black t-shirt that was no doubt Armani. He paused beside her, half turned away as if he were looking at the baggage claim screen. A map of Scotland was folded accordion-style in his hands and he didn’t look at her once as he quietly told her to wait on the sidewalk by the drop-off/pick-up area.
Leah followed instructions, thinking that Vincente was being a tad dramatic with the whole clandestine spy thing, and dragged her little black carry-on to the gum-stained sidewalk outside the airport terminal. The Scottish sky was low, and from the shelter of the overhang she watched as a curtain of mist drifted from the clouds overhead. The international mix of accents and Scottish brogue entwined around her as passengers bustled to and from the entrance. The scent of cinnamon rolls rode on the wind, reminding her that even though it was only two thirty in afternoon with the time difference, she’d been traveling for well over fifteen hours with nothing to sustain her but several cups of burnt coffee and an airplane veggie wrap. On cue, her stomach growled. She glanced back at the terminal entrance wondering if she had time to grab something to eat when a black, two-door Picanto pulled to the curb. The driver leapt out of the vehicle but left it running with the door wide open. The man looked to be well into his fifties and wore torn jeans and a mixed look of desperation and fear.
“You Leah?” he asked her. His brogue was so thick she nearly didn’t understand. When she nodded he said, “Enjoy the ride, lass.” She opened her mouth to question him but he turned his back on her and hurried away, leaving her with the running car.
Leah was impressed. No one would ever know she and Vincente had arrived in Scotland together. She was sure there were cameras mounted all over the airport, and yet Vincente had managed to avoid all contact with her except for the brief moment at baggage claim, and even then he’d been wearing a hat and had made it look as if he’d bumped into her. She wasn’t sure why it mattered that they not be seen together. She thought taking his “girlfriend” along with him for a business trip would support his cover, but she reminded herself that Vincente was CIA and she was not.
Aside from the rental paperwork for a man named Joe Levee and a map of Scotland, there was nothing in the glovebox. No instructions from Vincente, no cell phone. She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel and was contemplating her next move when a red sports car slowly drove past. Vincente was behind the wheel. He didn’t wave to her, but she knew it was her signal to follow behind him.
They drove leisurely through Glasgow, and although she was exhausted, Leah enjoyed ogling the architecture. At the edge of town, away from prying eyes, Vincente sped up. What followed was the most hair-raising four hours of Leah’s life. She trailed closely behind Vincente as he roared up the Scottish coastline, too terrified to enjoy any of the scenery or the fact that the route snaked along one of the bluest coastlines she’d ever seen.
At last Vincente pulled over on a one-lane road that cut through a hilly field dotted with clumps of weeds and grazing sheep. The carelessness with which they’d driven the rural lane had nearly made her sick, and more than once Vincente had narrowly avoided a head-on with a cluster of sheep that had wandered into the center of the road.
He swung out of the sports car, walked over, and shoved a rusted nail into her tire.
Leah saw red. She was tired, hungry, and Vincente had yet to explain what the hell they were doing. She pushed open her door, stomped over to him, and scowled down at the nail poking out of her deflating tire. “Are you going to tell me what the plan is here? I think I’ve been more than patient following you halfway across the world with barely an explanation.”
A flicker of emotion—hatred?—flashed in his eyes. No, that couldn’t be right. She’d so selflessly agreed to help him even after he’d destroyed their relationship with Whips and Chains chick. She was practically a saint. Besides, she wasn’t out of line asking for an explanation. After agreeing to be his “decoy,” he’d all but disappeared before dropping the airplane ticket in her mailbox the night before. She deserved answers.
Vincente slid his aviators into his hair. “I guess I can tell you now. The target’s name is Ian Haugen. He has an established business in Norway, so it was my understanding he’d be in Oslo, but when we landed I was informed he’d just left for Glasgow on business. That’s why we had to make the quick switch.”
The knowledge that he hadn’t deliberately withheld their true location somewhat mollified her. “Okay, so that explains why we’re in Scotland. But why are we here, in the middle of nowhere?”
“We hacked into Haugen’s GPS system. He has it programed for a little B&B in Loch Lomond, about fifteen miles ahead,” Vincente answered. “He’s driving there now. We cut ahead of him by about twenty minutes.”
And that explained the white-knuckled dash.
“The plan is simple. You have a flat tire.” He gestured to the nail protruding from the rubber. “His profile suggests Haugen will stop to help you change it since that would be culturally appropriate. When he does, you’ll chatter on about how you’re a tourist from D.C. and how you’ve always wanted to see the Highlands of Scotland. You’ll tell him you were on your way to the Orster Bed and Breakfast when you got a flat tire, blah blah blah. He’ll be distracted by both the physical work of changing the tire and the mental effort of listening to your prattling.”
Leah was so busy repeating Orster Bed and Breakfast in her head that she nearly missed the dig. Had Vincente always been so subtly abusive? She didn’t think so, but then she hadn’t known him very well, had she?
“I’m ditching my car ahead and circling back. I’ll be in that field.” He gestured to the adjacent hilly pasture that was neatly hemmed in by a worn, but carefully tended wooden fence. “I’ll see you, but you won’t see me. Once Haugen is distracted I’ll ambush him and your job will be over. Drive to the inn at the end of this road and spend the night. Take a hot bath, have some wine, and try not to worry. I’ll be back for you tomorrow once I’ve handed Haugen off to my Russian contact.”
She nodded, relieved that her role would be minimal. “Okay, so all I have to do is make small talk. I can do that.”
His expression turned serious. “Don’t get cocky. Haugen is lethal and he’s clever. He’ll have been taught to read micro-expressions while abroad. If you act even slightly nervous, flash even a single expression that puts him on edge, he’ll run and I’ll lose my chance. Do you understand?”
She swallowed hard.
“Stick to the truth as much as you can.” Vincente looked down at the rain boots she’d pulled on at a stoplight in the city and his lip curled. It was a misty, wet day, so she’d traded her flip-flops for the pair of bright yellow rain boots with ducks on them. The boots didn’t really go with her short jean shorts and gray hoodie, but at least her feet were dry.
“I hope he stops for you,” Vincente said derisively. “You’re not exactly looking your best.”
“You want it to appear natural, don’t you?” she snapped. “A tourist dressed in a skin-tight dress and skyscraper heels might ring a few alarm bells.”
Vincente scowled, refusing to admit that she was right. The afternoon light was mellow, and yet he’d worn his sunglasses, probably because he thought they made him look cool. He’d added a sleek leather jacket over the black t-shirt and ditched the baseball hat. His dark hair was styled in stiff waves, which meant he must have applied gel at some point while speeding in the car—a thought that made her insides curl. His teeth gleamed whi
te against artificially tanned skin that was so tight around the eyes she marveled at how she’d never noticed he’d had a facelift. Vincente Barry was a handsome man—movie star handsome. It was too bad the CIA identity couldn’t make up for the fact that although he was attractive and keenly intelligent, he was also an insufferable ass.
But Leah wasn’t stranded on a deserted road in the Highlands of Scotland for Vincente. She was there because he’d appealed to her patriotic sense of duty. After this mission was over, she sincerely hoped to never hear from him again.
Vincente tapped her lightly on the nose in what was meant to be an endearing gesture that Leah just found patronizing. “I’ll be nearby. Everything will be okay. All you need to do is get him to change your tire.” Then he hopped into the red sports car and peeled away.
The moment his taillights disappeared from view doubt seized her. What was she doing there? She belonged in her cramped cubicle in D.C., hunched over a dusty shoebox filled with receipts and drinking coffee like it was life-sustaining liquid, not sneaking around a foreign country playing spy. Surely Russia, a country consisting of 6 million square miles, could have found a suitable person to accompany Vincente on his mission. What if something went wrong? What if Haugen didn’t stop? What if he did stop and killed her just because he hated Americans so much? What if Vincente wasn’t able to take him down?
She swallowed a lump the size of a golf ball. She really should have considered these things before boarding the plane in D.C. Even as she told herself this, Leah knew she still would have made the same choice. Vincente had put her in a position where she had to choose whether to risk her own personal welfare for the good of innocent people, or stay safe at the possible detriment to others. It hadn’t been much of a choice.
Finding Lies Page 3