Smoke and Shadows (6 page)

Kyle Yeager had been the Director of the Clandestine Service division of the CIA for the past ten years. He was not a particularly handsome man, but he had a presence. Medium-height, stockily built, and always impeccably dressed in expensive suits, he ruled with sharp intellect and street smarts and had no time for political bullshit. Which was why Marissa liked working for him, and she believed he was also the reason why Viktor continued to accept assignments from the CIA.

The Director looked particularly troubled as he sat at the head of the conference table in one of the smaller briefing rooms at Langley.

There were other team leads and analysts present, but Yeager was looking at Marissa when he stated flatly, “Harry Matthews committed suicide last night.”

The news stunned everyone. Some sat with their heads bowed in dejected resignation. Marissa felt a slight queasiness in the pit of her stomach. Matthews’s death indicated one thing; the bodies were piling up.

“Foul play?” Allison asked quietly.

“Probably,” Yeager said. “Too much of a coincidence.
 
AGS confirmed the death of one of their retired agents three weeks ago. Another one barely survived. But I don’t see a connection between Matthews and this string of assassinations. Marissa?”

She shook her head. “I don’t.” But Harry Matthews played a pivotal role in getting Viktor and his men discharged from the Army for insubordination more than eighteen years ago. That mission was to extract Russian scientist Luski, his wife, and daughter in exchange for information regarding a plutonium cache. The CIA reneged on their deal with Luski, and instead, decided to go for the bigger fish when the Russian mob turned up at the Luski house. Viktor paid Matthews back—from Deputy Director of Clandestine Service demoted to case officer. Marissa wasn’t aware of the details of Harry Matthews’s fall from grace, but she knew that Viktor had everything to do with it. Her eyes widened. “Unless—”

No. It wasn’t possible. He wouldn’t.
 

“What is it, Marissa?”

“I need to speak with you privately, Sir,” Marissa requested.

Yeager's eyes narrowed, but he nodded for everyone else to leave.

“Allison. You stay,” Marissa informed her analyst.

After the final person left the room, Marissa said, “We need to find out what files Matthews had accessed in the last three months.”

“What are you alluding to?”

“I have a hunch,” Marissa said. “But if proven—it could get ugly.”

Yeager cursed under his breath. “Matthews hasn’t been very happy with the agency for a long time. I was surprised he hadn’t retired sooner. But I don’t think he’d sell us out, Cole.”

“I don’t either, Director,” Marissa said. “But the NOC on the agents on Operation Smokescreen had been leaked. Matthews’s suicide reeks of conspiracy to silence the source.”

“Why?”

Marissa scowled.

Yeager took a deep breath and said, “Viktor Baran. It’s not far-fetched, but the last thing this agency needs is a scandal when our agents are being targeted. This may still be a simple suicide. Do this under the radar. You got me?”

“Understood.” Marissa turned to Allison. “The Smokescreen files reside on Argus and have been monitored these past three weeks for access. But we haven’t considered what was stored in the Cellar. I want you to track every item Matthews had checked out from there. Any questions?”

Allison shook her head.

Argus was one of the giant super-computers at the agency that contained highly classified and encrypted information. The Cellar, as the name implied, was a warehouse several floors below CIA HQS where any physical item related to an op or case—files, evidence, reports, disks —was stored.

“I hope you’re wrong about this, Cole,” Yeager said.

“Same here.” However, if she was wrong, they wouldn’t be any closer to finding who was intent on killing Guardians and CIA agents. And something told her the clock was ticking on the next target.

*****

Parking!
Marissa thought and swerved immediately to snag the coveted space. It was a few blocks from her house, but parking near Dupont Circle had always been a nightmare. Still, she loved her Victorian row house on T Street, although, she hadn’t had much opportunity to enjoy it lately. Marissa sent Allison home after laying out the strategy to handle the influx of information from their assets in Damascus and the CIA station in Lebanon. There was no movement on the money trail on the hit in Paris, and her analyst had been working non-stop for a month and deserved some semblance of a weekend. So she gave Allison firm orders to take a Saturday night and the whole of Sunday off because it looked like another hellish month ahead. When hitting a dead end, it was always helpful to take a step back and have a break before diving back in. A good rest might just turn the tide toward gaining a new perspective.
 

Before exiting the BMW, she clocked any possible threats. Situational awareness was deeply ingrained in her training; the man standing across the street idly fiddling with his phone, the person in the parked vehicle a few cars behind her, or the woman crossing the street in front of her. She double-checked the 9mm in her purse, making sure the safety was off. In an emergency, an engaged safety on a gun could make the difference between life and death.
 

Her heels clicked noisily on the sidewalk, and she winced at the damage that the intricately paved walkway would inflict on her pumps. Shoes and clothes were her guilty pleasure. Besides, she wanted to keep up her cover as a successful architect. Marissa’s face lit up when she spotted her neighbor, Brian, grinning at her. His dog, Bruiser, a Bullmastiff mix, was sitting beside him, drooling all over the ancient mildew-stained concrete steps that led up to the house.

“Hey, stranger,” Brian drawled in that sexy Southern accent that used to make her melt. He had moved in next door three years ago after his divorce. As an aide to a congressman, he was well versed in Beltway politics and had a personality of charm and tenacity. Add in the mesmerizing pull of those baby-blue eyes, a lean, muscular body, and a busy schedule, he’d been perfect as her once-upon-a-time fuck buddy. Heck, she hadn’t had sex in six months—although, Brian had always made it known that he was available. “Haven’t seen you around.”
 

Marissa grimaced. “Tough project. Boss is a slave driver.”

“So quit. You don’t need the money,” Brian said. “Have some fun.” He waggled his eyebrows.

Marissa laughed. This was why she liked Brian. He wasn’t complicated—he wasn’t after commitment. There was no awkwardness between them. They knew what they wanted out of their friendship. He wasn’t demanding or autocratic like one other man she knew.
 

“Hey, boy.” She bent slightly to pet Bruiser. Big mistake. The gigantic dog rose up on his hind legs and nearly knocked her off her feet. She avoided that disaster, but her suit ended up with a gooey streak of disgusting dog drool.

“Bruiser!” Brian exclaimed. “Aw, fuck! I’m so sorry!”

Marissa laughed harder. “No, it’s all right. I’ll just send it for dry cleaning.”

“Send me the bill.” Brian’s face was flushed with embarrassment.

“Seriously, Bri, it’s fine.” Marissa went up a few steps so that she was eye level with him. Leaning in, she planted a friendly peck near his lips. “Don’t worry about it.”

“How about I bring some pizza over for dinner?” Brian suggested. “You staying in?”

“Really, Brian. You don’t have to,” Marissa said. “Kinda tired and thinking of just spending some time alone. No offense.”

“None taken. But I insist,” Brian pressed. “You don’t have to do anything. I don’t care if you fall asleep on me.”
 

Marissa shook her head, grinning. “Flirt. You’re still the master of double-meanings. But really, I’m not up for company.”

Brian looked disappointed, but being around her right now was not safe. In fact, she shouldn’t have conversed with him too long outside. But sometimes, the life of a spook was so lonely. She just craved some semblance of normalcy, such as hot sex with a hot neighbor. Except right now, her libido was channelled toward someone else.

“I really need to turn in and just laze around for the rest of the day,” Marissa stated with finality. It was 4:00 p.m., and there was nothing she wanted more than to sleep until the next morning. She grinned at Brian, and ascended the remaining steps and entered her house.

Marissa dropped her bag on the dining table and headed for the kitchen to check the contents of her fridge. Shaking her head at the sparse supply, she tried to remember the last time she went to the grocery. Looked like she was having instant ramen for dinner. Her gaze dropped to her landline and sighed. Time to return some personal calls.
 

“I’m telling you, Trent, it’s not going to make any difference,” Marissa told her brother. “It’s only going to be his way or the highway. Dad will never change.”

“Have you talked to him lately?” Her brother’s baritone voice challenged her over the phone.

Marissa huffed in annoyance. Her father was disappointed in both his children for choosing a life outside their family business. Trenton Cole III was old money from Maryland and was the principal owner of Cole Nauticals, a shipping conglomerate. Her brother, Trent, chose to join the United States Army and was right now in Special Forces. He was coming home from God knows what after his eighth tour in Afghanistan, and was staying in Northern Virginia for a couple of months.

“It’ll be good business with both of us in this, sis,” Trent added when she did not respond. “I’d like to quit the Army and go into private security. A group of us just needs the capital. Dad might listen to you. Just back me up, please?”

“What is it with you ex-Army guys and private military companies anyway?” Marissa grumbled.
 

“We love what we do, Reesee. Just need to get paid more money for our skills.”

Loads of money, judging from what Marissa could see from what it cost to run AGS operations. Viktor had close to forty full-time agents and they were always deployed somewhere, not to mention any number of contractors who chose to work with them. Paid top-dollar, but non-official covers (NOC), therefore, Uncle Sam or any other client could disavow them if shit hit the fan. It was part of the contract.

“Are you going NOC or official?” Marissa asked.

“Not sure yet. What do you suggest, Ms. CIA?” her brother drawled.

“Damn it, Trent, this line is not secure.”

“Oh, shit. Sorry.”

“You just failed Security 101, baby brother.”

Just then, there was a sound of scuffing near the front door. Her alertness shifted into high gear.

“Hey, I need to go. Call me when you’re back stateside.”

When Marissa ended the call, she immediately reached for her gun. Gripping the weapon with both hands, muzzle pointing down, she slowly approached the door. A few steps before she reached the foyer, the doorbell rang.

“Who is it?”

“Your friendly neighbor.”
 

Brian.

Exhaling deeply, Marissa hid her gun in the credenza near the entrance. Out of habit, she peeked through the peephole, spying Brian’s distorted face.
 

“Brian,” Marissa said in exasperation as she opened the door. He walked in with a box of pizza and a six-pack of beer.
 

“I told you—”

“You have to eat anyway,” Brian cut in. “Look, I’ll leave in an hour.” He shrugged. “Or two.”
 

Marissa glowered at him. He grinned, laid the pizza and beer on the table, and raised both hands to appease her. “I just miss my friend and want to catch up.”

“Brian—”

“I’m not here for a booty-call.”

“Hey, I’ve never accused you of that,” Marissa retorted. “Well then, let’s eat. The pizza is getting cold.”

“You’re so strung-up,” Brian observed.

“I told you I wasn’t good company,” she replied, a bit apologetically. “Too much stuff going on at work.”

Brian regarded her thoughtfully, but didn’t say anything else; instead, he flicked the tab on a beer and handed it to her.
 

She took a hearty gulp and realized the cold beverage was exactly what she needed. “Ahhh, that tastes so good.”

“So, I got half-pepperoni and half the works,” Brian said as he flipped the pizza box open. They ate their pizza in silence. Pepperoni pizza was all Marissa ever ate and was gratified that her neighbor remembered because it saved her from picking at her pizza until there was nothing left except cheese and crust.

“I know architects can work ridiculously long hours,” Brian said over a bite of pizza, “but don’t you think you’re running yourself to the ground? I’m just speaking as a friend here, so if I cross the line—smack me.”

Her lips tipped up.
See—easygoing
which made him not relationship material because he couldn’t bring himself to care deeply enough. He’d test the waters and then pull back. No risk. She was accustomed to reading people, which was probably why she knew she could be comfortable with Brian.
 

“Pay’s good,” Marissa mumbled. “Now shut up and tell me what’s the newest scandal on the Hill?”

She probably knew more than he did, so she tried not to glaze over as he told her about the infighting in Congress regarding the spending bill. After two hours of conversation, Brian noticed her head nodding and mentioned that he should probably leave. She didn’t stop him because after beer and pizza, she was definitely ready to turn in.

A sharp rap on the door made them freeze. The rap was followed by more urgent pounding.

“What the hell?” Brian muttered furiously, getting up to see who it was.

Marissa leaped into action, all sleepiness vanishing. She thrust an arm out to stop him and whispered urgently, “No, Brian.”

Damn it. She was going to blow her cover, but she had no choice because if that was an assassin out there, Brian was in mortal danger.

Her neighbor stared at her incredulously. “This is DC, Marissa. Great city, but plenty of psychos. Let me handle this.”

“Brian,” Marissa said impatiently when there was another banging on the door. “Stay in the kitchen, and if anything happens, don’t look back—just run out the back door and hide.”