Conard County Spy (6 page)

“I'm here,” Trace said.

Ryker's voice filled the room. “Just a small update. Mission accomplished yesterday. We tried your cell this morning and were sent directly to voice mail, so it's probably dead. Your car hasn't been towed from the accident scene yet, and probably won't be until this storm passes. State police recorded an accident yesterday afternoon, no driver or passengers around, and they traced the vehicle identification number to one of you. So, buddy, you're off the grid. At least, for now.”

“That's good. I need some thinking time.”

“You know, I was trying to do that last night and early this morning while pacing with my cranky daughter.”

“And?”

“I realized how difficult this is going to be for you. You can probably cut off everything before the last couple of years, but that'll still leave a lot of possibilities. Like you, I don't know why anyone should be after me, but if I had a problem like yours I'd be pretty much at sea.”

Trace lowered himself carefully onto a chair. “Well, I dealt indirectly with a lot more assets than you. Assuming this is an asset. And it must be, or the agency wouldn't be helping him.”

Julie interrupted. “What the heck is an asset?”

Silence greeted her. Finally Ryker said, “Buddy?”

“It's no secret,” Trace said slowly. “Assets are foreign nationals who help us. Sometimes in big ways, sometimes in small ways, and occasionally for a very long time. We protect them the way we'd protect our families. We'll pull them out and give them new lives if they ever get exposed.”

“So why would one of them be after you?”

“Because,” said Trace heavily, “sometimes things don't go according to plan.”

Julie's heart lurched as she considered
those
possibilities.

“But you had some distance between you and most of the assets you were running, at least for the last few years,” Ryker pointed out.

“Yeah, I did. But I was still in charge of the guys at lower levels. Who knows how one of them may have screwed up? Stuff happens.”

“And we don't always hear about it when it does,” Ryker said.

Julie spoke. “Compartmentalization?”

“Exactly,” Trace answered. “Exactly. That multiplies the problem here.”

Silence fell for a little while. “Julie?” Trace said.

“Yeah?”

“You wouldn't happen to have one of those phones that plugs into the wall, would you?”

“Actually, yes I do. It's cheap, but I keep it for when the power goes out.”

“Then can we use it? Because cordless phones broadcast their signal.”

Julie felt a shiver of shock run through her. The things she'd never thought about. Never had to think about. But as soon as Trace said it, she knew he was right.

“It's probably okay right now,” Ryker said, “but he's right. If someone starts backtracking Trace from Denver...”

“As soon as we sign off here, I'll get the old phone.”

“And disconnect your base set, okay?”

“You got it.”

It struck her again that all of a sudden she was involved in a real spy story. A deadly one. An amazed cussword floated into her head, but she didn't speak it. When you dealt with little kids all day, the worst cussing you could do was
darn it
. Right now she felt a need for something stronger. The next best thing emerged. “Cusswords,” she said vehemently.

Two surprised men fell silent, then Trace asked, “Cusswords?”

“When you talk to youngsters all day...”

He laughed, a real laugh. “Copy that. Okay, then. Let's switch the phones and I'll get back to thinking.”

“How's the baby?” Julie asked before Ryker could disconnect.

“Believe it or not, she's a little better. Cranky, but not nearly as stuffed up. My wife is getting some sleep right now.”

She noted the way he didn't use Marisa's name. They were broadcasting. For the first time, being on the telephone chilled her.

“My ear's to the ground,” Ryker said, by way of farewell. “I'll keep you posted.”

When she hung up, she immediately pulled the plug for the base set out of the wall and got the regular phone from the kitchen drawer where she had stashed it.
I'll bet Tom Cruise never felt like this.
At least the thought amused her. Mildly.

“I'm sorry about all this,” Trace said as he watched.

“I don't know that I am,” she said frankly. “Am I getting a ration of shocks and surprises? Yes. Do I hate it? No. A little shaking up is good for the soul. Anyway, I'm determined to treat this like a game I have to win, because if I really let myself think about it, I might freak.”

He eyed her sympathetically. “Freak if you need to. I'll listen.”

“I'm sure you will. But freaking never fixed anything. You wouldn't believe how many times a week I have to tell that to a child. Now it's my turn to take my own advice. So no freaking out. However, I see sweat on your brow and it's not that warm in here. If anyone out there is moving, it's by dogsled, and we'll hear the barking before they get here, so why don't you take something for that pain?”

“I need my head,” he said, but he smiled. “Half a dose mixed with a heavier dose of caffeine, if you don't mind.”

She waved a hand. “I have plenty of coffee, and if you want stronger I once splurged on an espresso machine. I can light you up, baby.”

That drew a laugh from him and brought a twinkle to his brown eyes. “You light me up more than you know, and no caffeine required.”

She felt her cheeks heat and headed quickly to make that espresso. So she wasn't the only one feeling it. A warm glow settled deep inside her. She liked it.

* * *

Much as Trace tried to keep his head on his problem, Julie took up space. While he sipped the double shot of espresso she'd made for him and waited for the pain pill to kick in, he decided she was not at all what he would have expected from a kindergarten teacher. Not that he'd ever spent a lot of time thinking about it.

She'd have to be lively to some extent to deal with children of that age all day successfully. But it was more than that.
Cusswords?
He still wanted to laugh over that. But it was yet more. Most people would have wanted nothing to do with him and his dangerous problems, but she'd dived right in to protect her friends. Loyalty was a quality he valued above almost anything. She had quite a tongue on her when she chose, she didn't hold back, and her face was entrancing to watch as expressions continually flitted across it. Always having a sense of what she was feeling and thinking would be a comforting quality to him after all the years he'd spent in a world where everyone tried to conceal everything. How relaxing to be with someone who had no secrets, and who couldn't really conceal them if she wanted to.

She turned from her desk and found him watching her. “See something you like?”

He had to grin. “Very definitely.”

She smiled back. “Me, too. So tell me something?”

“If I can.”

“What did Ryker mean when he said the police traced your vehicle back to one of you?”

He probably wouldn't be telling her anything she couldn't guess if she thought about it. “I have a number of identities.”

“Ah. Will the real Trace Whoever please stand up?”

“Sort of like that.” For once he threw caution to the winds. “My real name is Trace Archer. I don't use it very often, but that's pretty much what's on my paychecks.”

“So you assume that's the real one.” A smile danced around her lips.

“That same guy pays my taxes, too.”

She laughed. “I've never had an alias. Maybe I should get one. Except that I can't imagine who else I could be.”

“I think,” he said, meaning it, “that you could be anyone you want to be.” Beauty, intelligence and a quick wit, all in one package.

“If it's just about a piece of paper, probably. Changing other things about me would be harder. Do you have to do that?”

Again he weighed the question. He wasn't in the habit of talking about these matters, and every question posed the possibility of revealing something he shouldn't. “Yes,” he said presently. “Sometimes I've had to. It's like being in a play, except that you can't afford to drop your character, ever. You have to live it, breathe it, even sleep it.”

She chewed her lower lip, nodding slowly. “How do you find yourself in all that?”

Shock shook him. He was amazed that she'd even thought of that part of it. “It's not always easy. When you start to forget, it's time to come in for a while. Repatriation, they call it.”

“What do you call it?”

“Finding my feet again.”

She stood up. “More espresso?”

“Thanks, yes.”

Halfway to the kitchen she stopped and looked straight at him. “How well did you know Johnny Hayes?”

Everything inside Trace congealed. She was going to a place he couldn't go, wasn't allowed to go. A place that could leave everyone who had worked with John Hayes in a deadly position if links were made. “Julie...” Then he had to lie. “We met.”

“And that's all you can tell me.” She frowned. “You don't want to know what his wife went through after he was killed. She never believed the official story. Never. I don't know what finally settled her down, but she's made peace with it. I'd like her to keep that peace, so lie if you have to, Trace. She's happy again, and while I'm not fond of lies and half truths, in this case they'd have my full support.”

He felt awful about his evasion, something new to him. Evasions and lies were part of his job as required. But this time it bothered him, and while she'd made her position clear, he was left with a bad taste in his mouth. His world was steadily seeping into Julie's, and he didn't believe it would leave her untouched. He absolutely hated himself right then.

* * *

Halfway across the country, the clerk stood outside the hotel room door. He didn't know what was going on, but the general inside that room made him uneasy, and his job as go-between made him even uneasier. To begin with, he wasn't a spy, but a very expendable clerk. This job was making him acutely aware of that, even though he didn't know what was going down here. He just didn't like it, didn't like that these contacts had to be carried out at his low level. Even as inexperienced as he was, he understood that a kind of secrecy was being invoked here, and that he might well become the person who received all the flak if something went askew.

But he also knew he had no choice. If he disobeyed his orders, he'd become even more expendable, because from the moment he'd been ordered to meet the general and turn over the dossier, he'd begun carrying knowledge well above his pay grade. Dangerous knowledge. He was walking on plausible deniability.

Uneasy or not, however, he had something to prove here: that he could do the job. Eventually he wanted to move into field operations, and there was a possibility this task could help him reach his goal. So he swallowed his discomfort and knocked.

The door opened, revealing the general. Today the man wore a long robe and leather slippers. Apparently he had no other meetings until later.

At a jerk of the other man's head, he stepped inside and heard the door close behind him. It sounded like a vault door, and considering the information he'd been tasked to provide, he honestly wasn't sure if he'd get out of here in one piece. Although it would be foolhardy for the general to do anything to him in such a public place, in a room that was being rented by his delegation. Of course, the clerk realized that a lot of alternative explanations could be provided. The agency he worked for was good at covering things up.

“Well?” said the general.

The clerk needed to clear his throat before he could speak. “The target was involved in a car accident. We were able to trace him as far as Denver, but now he's off the grid.”

“You lost him?” Fury descended on the general's face like a violent thunderstorm. “You lost him?”

The clerk compressed his lips. “Only temporarily,” he said, parroting the message he had been given. “There's a bad snowstorm. We're sure we'll find him again as soon as it passes.”

“How?”

“Because he needs money,” the clerk answered simply. “He'll have to buy a car, rent a room, eat a meal. He doesn't have that much cash on him.”

The general's face grew so red that the clerk hoped he'd have a stroke on the spot. Little as he knew about all of this, he suspected that a dead general would mean all of this would end.

Unhappily for him, the general didn't collapse and die.

“How long will the storm last?”

“Two, possibly three days.”

The general nodded. For a minute or so he didn't move as his color slowly returned to normal. “You tell your officer that I want to be in Denver before the airport closes. I will want to know as soon as this target reappears.”

“Yes, sir.” Then he took his courage in his hands and defied the man with the truth, something he believed his boss would want him to do. The weather was something he knew about himself, although it hadn't been in his brief. “But it is probably too late to get you to Denver until after the storm. Flights are already being delayed and diverted. I will tell my superiors your wish, but I can make no promises.”

“Of course you can make no promises. I know what you are. You are powerless. But I will tolerate no more mistakes.” The general pounded his fist into his palm, his voice growing even more strident. “Make that clear. There have been too many mistakes. I am tired of having to clean up their mess. No more.”

The clerk left the room as quickly as he dared. Outside, shaking, sweat beading his brow, he began to wish he'd never been born.