Compact with the Devil: A Novel (4 page)

“Aside from Camille,” said Mrs. M, “I thought the team operated quite well.”

“We’re really starting to click,” agreed Nikki enthusiastically. “And some of the Colombian agents were figuring it out, too. If we could just start training branch teams before an emergency mission comes up, things might go a little more smoothly.”

“I know.” Mrs. M nodded. “But the council has to be persuaded in increments. Assault teams were not in Carrie Mae Robart’s vision for the foundation.”

“With all due respect to the founder, she probably just couldn’t envision a world full of terrorist cells and ridiculously powerful small arms.”

“You’re preaching to the choir,” said Mrs. M drily. “We’ll get there; you just have to keep the faith. In the meantime, I think this mission will be good for you.”

“Every time you say that it never means what I think it means,” said Nikki bitterly.

“I try to send all my girls where I think they can do their best,” she said, smiling her Buddha smile, but Nikki frowned. “Everyone needs to get out of her routine periodically.”

“Well, why can’t I take Jenny and Ellen with me?”

“Besides their being needed here to keep an eye on Nina Alvarez and our CIA friends, I think it would be good to split up the team for a bit. Doesn’t do to get too complacent.”

Nikki eyed Mrs. M suspiciously. She trusted Mrs. M—she really did—but the longer they worked together, the more Nikki started to think of her as a clock: a clear, easy-to-read face, but inside, so many little gears and cogs whirring away in a much more complicated process.

“Oh,” said Mrs. M as Nikki exited the car. “Be sure and call your mother before too long, hmm? We don’t want another incident like in the Congo, do we?”

Nikki blushed. Besides being known as the agent who had brought down Val Robinson, she was also known as the agent whose mother called the cops if she went undercover for too long.

“Yes, Mrs. M,” she muttered, and hurried into the airport, wondering if Mrs. M knew. She couldn’t know. It wasn’t as if they’d done it on purpose.

It had started innocently enough. Six months into dating Z’ev she’d started to feel the ping of guilt each time she lied to him about work. With no clear thoughts on the matter, she’d turned to her sounding board.

“I’m thinking about telling Z’ev,” she’d said as they sat on their bags, waiting for a bus.

“You can’t,” said Jenny, fanning herself with the useless Bolivian bus schedule. “It’s totally against the rules. If Mrs. M got wind, your ass would be in the crapper in no time.”

“I know,” said Nikki, “but I hate lying to him all the time.”

“Do you think you can trust him?” asked Ellen, dabbing her cleavage with a damp handkerchief.

“No, she can’t trust him!” exclaimed Jane.

“You sound like my mother,” said Nikki disparagingly.

“Do you think this bus is ever going to show?” asked Jenny.

“Relax—the mission’s over,” said Nikki. “We’re not in a hurry.”

“Yeah, I thought you Southerners didn’t mind a slower pace of life,” said Ellen, her eyes twinkling at Jenny over the top of her sunglasses.

“If there was a patch of shade and a mint julep, the bus could be as slow as it liked,” Jenny shot back. “Meanwhile, I think you could fry an egg on this road.”

“You’re not the one wearing all black,” said Jane. “I think my eyeliner’s melting, and this heat cannot be good for my computer.” Jane was wearing a recently purchased fedora-like hat resembling those worn by the traditional Uros women. She looked like a Goth Frank Sinatra.

“I told you not to wear pencil liner in this heat,” said Jenny. “And Nikki didn’t answer the question. Do you think you can trust him?”

Her three friends stared, waiting for her reply. Nikki bit her lip.

“I want to trust him,” she said at last.

“Not good enough,” said Jane, shaking her head. “You can’t trust boys.”

“That is ridiculous,” objected Nikki. “That’s just like saying women can’t do math or any other misogynistic nonsense. We have to start judging people as individuals.”

“I hate to agree with our resident feminazi,” said Ellen, “but Jane’s right. It’s not good enough to want to trust him. If you were going to break the rules…”

“Which I do not advise,” said Jenny, interjecting.

“You have to be absolutely certain,” finished Ellen.

“Well, isn’t it an act of faith at some point?” objected Nikki. “I mean, how am I supposed to be absolutely certain?”

But she’d wanted to be certain, and a few months later, back in California, she had felt a surge of confidence when Z’ev finally made vacation plans for the two of them.

“We’re going on vacation!” said Nikki. “To Mexico, over Christmas.”

Jenny stopped rummaging in Nikki’s fridge and looked over the door.

“What? Again?”

“Can’t be again,” said Ellen. “They haven’t actually been yet.”

“Didn’t you lose your deposit last time he canceled?” asked Jane. “I would have been soooo pissed.” Kickboxing class had evolved into nacho night at Nikki’s place.

“He paid me back,” snapped Nikki, irritation coloring her voice. “And this time, he’s the one who asked me. He wouldn’t cancel his own plans, right?”

“You want to listen to yourself on that statement, hon?” asked Jenny from inside the fridge. “Is this ground turkey still good?”

“Should be. I just bought it a couple of days ago,” said Nikki, leaning over the door to see what Jenny was digging into.

“Yeah, why should his plans be more important than plans you’ve made?” asked Jane, rinsing lettuce in the sink.

“I’ve been thinking about the ‘tell him’ issue,” said Ellen, taking out a pan.

“We’re calling it the Big Reveal,” said Jane. “Like a makeover show.” Ellen snorted.

“Okay, the Big Reveal. What you need is a test.”

“A test?” repeated Nikki skeptically.

“You need to tell—sorry, reveal—some secret, and if he tells his company then you’ll know.”

“That dog might hunt,” said Jenny, looking thoughtful.

“I don’t know,” said Nikki uneasily. “I don’t have any secret—other than my job.”

“I’m sure we could come up with something that the CIA would be interested in,” said Jane. “I think you should do it.”

“What happened to ‘I hate men’?” asked Nikki, laughing.

“I don’t hate them,” protested Jane. “I just happen to think that, as a group, they’re unreliable. But you’ve been upset about this for a while, and I can see how having a relationship where one of you is being honest and the other isn’t could impair things a bit. There’s got to be a solution. So, if you think you can trust him, maybe you ought to put him through some sort of beta testing. It’s only logical.”

“Thanks, Mr. Spock, but the fatal flaw with the theory is, what would be a secret that I, the charity foundation employee, could plausibly know?”

The girls looked thoughtful as the smell of sizzling meat filled the air.

“Well, I’m not coming up with anything, I’ll admit,” said Jane, opening drawers randomly. “But I still think it’s worth considering. Where’s your cheese grater?”

Two months later in Colombia, and only two days away from her promised vacation, Nikki was having doubts. She hadn’t shared them with the girls, but privately she had decided against the test. Ellen and Jenny quietly let the subject drop, but Jane had apparently not forgotten the idea.

“I’ve got it,” said Jane, her voice tinny in Nikki’s earpiece.

“Got what?” murmured Nikki, looking through binoculars into the Alvarez compound.

“How to beta-test Z’ev,” answered Jane.

“Oh, for crying out loud,” said Nikki. “I’m not going to test Z’ev! It doesn’t make sense! I promise I won’t tell him about Carrie Mae, but we’re just going to have a nice vacation, OK?”

“But I’ve got the perfect idea!”

Nikki sighed, knowing that Jane would just keep bringing it up till she listened.

“What’s the idea, Jane?”

“Tell him about Nina Alvarez. No, this could work,” she continued, overriding Nikki’s squawk of outrage. “Tell him she’s a foundation contributor who wants to leave her husband, but her husband is a drug kingpin who finances revolutionaries. Then tell him not to tell.”

“That won’t work. Alvarez is totally a DEA case; we’ve been ducking them for weeks,” said Nikki.

“Just tell him about the fact that he’s funding revolutionaries that could potentially destabilize the entire region,” said Jane blithely, clearly having thought of everything.

“No,” said Nikki, annoyed at herself for leaving Jane room to argue. “Besides, if the CIA got involved it would put Nina at risk.”

“You’re extracting her on Thursday,” said Jane. “The CIA can’t move that fast, particularly if they have to do a smash-up with the DEA. So if he gives you up, then they’ll be there after we’re gone, and if he doesn’t then you have a perfectly nice vacation.”

“It’s an ongoing Carrie Mae investigation,” said Nikki firmly. “It’s too risky. There’s no way I’m going to tell him about that.”

Later that night, Nikki had nearly forgotten about Jane’s idea when Z’ev called.

“Hey, Z’ev!” said Nikki, picking up Z’ev’s call. Jane was in the shower, and Jenny and Ellen had gone for ice. It had been two weeks of nearly constant drills, but the Colombian team was finally ready, and with extraction set for forty-eight hours and counting Nikki had decided everyone could use an early night.

“Hey, babe,” said Z’ev, a smile clear in his voice. “You all packed for Mexico?”

“Sure,” said Nikki. “I packed today. I bought a swimsuit.”

He chuckled. “You’re going to pack like you usually do, aren’t you?” he asked. “Throw everything in a bag the morning of your flight.”

“Gee, Mom, maybe I should pack like you?” Nikki asked sarcastically as Jane exited the shower, humming.

“No, that would take all the entertainment value out of it for me,” said Z’ev. Jenny and Ellen returned to the room, laughing at some joke.

“Tell Jenny your theory again,” Ellen called out to Jane. “I’m not sure I got that right.”

“Is that the girls?” asked Z’ev.

“Yeah, we’re all going to aerobics in a minute,” said Nikki, moving past Jane and heading for the patio, where it would be quieter. Z’ev thought she was still in California and she saw no reason to disabuse him of the notion.

“Oh!” exclaimed Jane as Nikki opened the sliding door. “I think Nikki should tell Z’ev about Nina Alvarez!”

Nikki froze and pivoted back to Jane, her eyes wide, praying that Z’ev hadn’t heard Jane’s comment. Jenny and Ellen froze, seeing Nikki’s expression.

“Who’s Nina Alvarez?” asked Z’ev, his voice echoing from the phone into the silent room. Jane went white and clapped both hands over her mouth.

“Oh!” said Nikki, and laughed. It almost sounded real. “Jane just has an overactive imagination. One of our foundation contributors is South American. Jane is convinced she’s married to a drug kingpin.”

“Probably,” said Z’ev callously. “Why does Jane want me to know about him?”

“We think she wants to leave her husband. Jane, of course, made up some wild fantasy about his being an antigovernment
revolutionary and thinks you should arrange to save her. It’s all irrelevant anyway. Her donations are supposed to be confidential; I really shouldn’t be discussing this with you at all.”

“Nikki, you haven’t been discussing my … business, have you?”

“No!” said Nikki, as if that was the farthest thing from the truth and she was shocked that he would say such a thing. “I told them what I told my mom—you work for the state department doing human rights stuff.”

“Nikki…”

“No, seriously, I haven’t said a thing. It’s not my fault Jane thinks you’re Superman.”

“Well, OK,” said Z’ev.

Twenty minutes later, Nikki finally eased her way out of the conversation. Jane was sitting on the bed in tears.

“I thought you were talking to your mom!” she wailed. “I came out of the bathroom and you said, ‘Gee, Mom.’”

“Even if I was talking to my mom, how does that make it OK to bring up a mission?” said Nikki, trying to calmly express her anger, without yelling. She wanted to explode.

“It doesn’t,” sobbed Jane. “I just … I wasn’t thinking.” Jenny hugged their friend and grimaced at Nikki over Jane’s head.

“Do you think he’s going to investigate?” asked Jenny.

“I don’t think so,” said Nikki cautiously. “He was more worried that I’d been discussing his job with all of you. With any luck he’ll forget all about it. But let’s just keep this between the four of us, huh?”

“No worries there,” said Ellen. “I don’t really feel like getting fired.”

On the plane, Nikki saw that the usual menagerie of grumpy airline passengers had been replaced with a surprisingly numerous and cheerful crowd of vacationers and last-minute homeward-bound commuters. Even the stewardesses were smiling more genuinely and wearing jaunty Santa caps. With every happy face, Nikki found her own mood worsening. The prospect of a thirteen-hour flight made the looming post-breakup blues seem even worse. She didn’t want to be here, and she resented everyone who did. She wished Mrs. M had let Camille take the mission; then she could have at least crawled home to her mother.

She rejected the complimentary eggnog and yanked down the shade as they rose above the clouds and into bright sunshine. Ignoring Mrs. M’s directive to review the files, she wrestled the provided blanket into place, punched the pillow, and tried to sleep, eventually nodding off. She shook her head as she awoke, trying to clear it, and tossed off the now too-warm airline blanket. The boisterous holiday spirit had cooled somewhat—a natural reaction
to being cooped in a flying metal sausage with limited leg room. Nikki felt her own spirits take a perverse lift as she looked around at her companions’ now dismal expressions.

Giving a self-satisfied yawn and stretch, Nikki reached for the remote control connected to her armrest and turned on the TV embedded in the back of the seat in front of her. Flipping through the channels, she found an American blockbuster that she hadn’t wanted to see the first time around, a Euro art-house flick, a string of Christmas specials from various sitcoms, and a rotating schedule of entertainment news, interviews, and music videos.