by C. G. Cooper
“Piece of junk,” she said, tossing the useless device—a luxury more than a necessity—onto the small bed. “Now, what to eat for breakfast.”
It was a private joke. She always ate the same thing in her little jungle hideaway. The Vietnamese version of granola—mostly nuts, mixed with an endless variety of fresh fruit. “Push-ups first,” she said, dropping to the ground and pressing out fifty. When she arrived she could barely do twenty. Cal would be proud.
Cal.
Why did his name keep coming to her lips? Why did his face keep coming to the forefront of her mind?
Because she loved him. It’d been a whirlwind romance destined to fail. And why? Because he pushed her away.
Diane inhaled and went to the fridge, grabbing a trio of fruits that she didn’t even have a name for.
There was a bamboo cutting board with deep grooves carved into it by thousands of knife cuts—who knows how many. It was this steadfast block of wood that took the brunt of her unease, and she chopped mercilessly.
Why couldn’t she get over him? It was his fault, not hers.
That’s what she’d been telling herself for months. How many months now? She was embarrassed to count them out. It was past time. She had to move on. Wasn’t that why she was here, to forget and move on?
Again, that was the excuse. That’s what she’d told her boss. The Navy didn’t just let you leave, but she’d finagled it. During her early enlistment, before putting on officer’s bars, she’d learned the ropes. She had friends all over the world. She’d been reassigned temporarily to a sub command of a sub command in Southeast Asia. She was an intelligence analyst, after all, so she’d come to analyze. And she had. That’s why she needed the Wi-Fi. How else would she submit reports to her temporary boss?
She finished slicing a fruit with pink innards, pausing to sample a wayward piece. It reminded her of kiwi with its tongue-twisting aftertaste. She dropped the fruit into her bowl and moved on to the next.
It was my fault, she told herself reluctantly, and not for the first time. That’s all she’d had: time. Time to think of Cal. Time to dissect the last time she’d seen him. Time to figure out where she’d gone wrong.
There’d been plenty he’d screwed up, and every one of those times was another inch he’d pushed her away. But if she was being honest, and Diane Mayer was an honest woman, she knew she’d had a part in it. She’d basically given him an ultimatum. What would she have done if the roles were reversed? Minus the whole Cal being kidnapped and tossed in a cave for a month, which wasn’t a small thing at all. Diane knew the truth. If she’d accepted him hook, line, and sinker, they might still be together.
If she hadn’t been so goddamned obstinate...
“Shit,” she said out loud, stabbing the knife into the cutting board tip first. It was going to be one of those days. Pity party, here we come.
He’d made her laugh a couple of times. Alright, more than a couple. And he looked damn good standing by the pool in a T-shirt and shorts.
The knock at the door surprised her. She looked at her watch and had to search her memory to bring up the day. She wasn’t expecting anyone. The maid came yesterday and the groceries were stocked.
She pulled the knife from the cutting board and held it down at her side. This place was paradise, but it was still Vietnam. No sense being stupid.
The knock came again.
“Coming,” Diane answered, looking herself up and down to make sure she was presentable. “Who is it?” she asked, left hand pressed against the door.
“Ms. Mayer?” a voice said. An American voice.
A chill ran up her spine. Nobody was supposed to know she was there.
“Who is it?” she asked again.
“Ma’am, I’m here at the behest of Mr. Stokes.”
“I don’t know a Mr. Stokes,” she said.
“Ma’am, we know you’re Diane Mayer, friend of Calvin Stokes of Nashville, Tennessee. If you’d like to see my credentials, I can show them to you.”
Diane wished she had a peep hole. The man’s voice sounded fine, but voices were easy to mask and perfect tools for deception.
“What’s his company called?” Diane asked. Anyone truly in the know would be right. She didn’t know what she’d do if the man didn’t and kept pressing. There was no phone, no 911.
“He’s the owner and former president of Stokes Security International, but now spends his time as a consultant and founder of The Jefferson Group, headquartered in Charlottesville, Virginia. Technically I’m a contractor for TJG. That is, myself and my companion.”
“There’s two of you?” That really rattled her. She needed a gun. A knife might work for one, but if there were two...
“Yes, ma’am, the two of us. Although Mr. Gilchrest, my companion, is more my accountant than true traveling companion.”
“Accountant? What do you need an accountant for?”
“That’s what I’m here to discuss, Ms. Mayer. If you’ll open the door, I can show you my credentials.”
Accountant? Credentials? Would Cal really send someone halfway around the world to… to what?
She was about to stall another way, maybe ask them some super-secret question that only one of Cal’s friends would know how to answer.
She never got the chance. The thick bamboo door crashed in and clipped her in the side of the face, sending her reeling.
Chapter Seventy-One
BRIGGS — VIETNAM — PRESENT DAY
Neither word nor look was exchanged between man and beast. Liberty was off the quicker, sprinting through the undergrowth, Daniel as close to her heels as he could get.
He didn’t doubt himself often, but this was one of those times. If he’d only made a move sooner, gotten closer. Anything. Now, the one mission he’d been sent to do, keep Diane safe, was on the brink of failing in stupendous fashion.
Of course, the two men had weapons. Daniel couldn’t hear every word of the conversation through the door, but he’d caught the gist. The pistols came out after the first insistence that they be let in. That’s when they’d run, and as Daniel tried to catch up with Liberty, he heard the door crash in. Probably the big guy. Brute strength hidden under a floppy exterior. The perfect disguise.
He hit a stream, losing more and more distance from Liberty, whose back feet were taking her up the last hillock before the hut. There was a scream from the house, but from his angle, Daniel couldn’t see or hear much more. He thought he heard thumps. Impossible to tell what that was.
That was when he heard the unmistakable growl from Liberty, and she leapt out of his view.
Chapter Seventy-Two
DIANE MAYER — VIETNAM — PRESENT DAY
The blow to the head dazed her and sent her to one knee. She still had the knife in hand and used it now, slashing at the smaller man, who did indeed look like a worn-out accountant. She got lucky and cut a clean gash along the wrist of his pistol-toting hand. His fault for coming too close.
But he grunted and stalked closer, a wary eye on her knife hand. Whatever element of surprise she’d had was gone. The next man was coming in behind now. This one bigger, nearly blocking out the sun from the open doorway. He had a gun, too, and it was pointed at her.
“What do you want?”
The first man sneered and wiped his wounded wrist on his shirt.
"Why did you have to make this hard?”
“Fuck you,” she said, crouching now, ready to fight back in any way she could. She might be able to dodge around the small kitchen table for a few seconds. She could upend her tiny bed. But that wouldn’t do much if they wanted her dead. They had guns.
The accountant spat on the floor, his face starting to cloud with pain.
“Get her,” he said to the other man.
She expected to see a matching grin from the larger man. No grin. He was all business, walking forward like he’d done this a thousand times.
“Knife,” he said, motioning with his pistol at her weapon. It was only one wo
rd, but Diane thought she detected an accent. Russian? Her analytical mind wanted to grab hold of the possibilities. Why Russians? What did they want with her? Was Cal okay?
She had to push it all away and focus on the golem staring down at her. Diane made up her mind. She would fight. That’s what Cal would do. It was her only chance.
Her right hand tightened on the knife and her leg flexed under her.
An arrow of flying fur hit the big man from behind, latching itself onto his neck. At last, he displayed a human reaction, growling with fright and pain as he whirled around in a losing attempt to get his hands on his attacker.
Diane looked at the thing in disbelief, shaking her head as if trying to wake herself.
Liberty?
She never got to finish the thought, because the accountant’s hand grabbed a handful of her hair and yanked her toward the door.
Chapter Seventy-Three
BRIGGS — VIETNAM — PRESENT DAY
Growls and grunts reached his ears as he sprinted for the doorway. Almost there. Almost. Then he heard a scream. He vaulted over the rail at full speed, his weapon before him as his feet hit wood flooring and didn’t stop.
He went in, weapon raised, scanning the darkened interior for targets. His heart pounded a steady staccato, calm for a normal man, but racing for a man like Daniel Briggs.
It took a second to understand why it was so dark. The curtains were drawn and somehow the light overhead was gone. His boots crunched through glass. A whine from the corner. Liberty.
Forms on the floor coalescing into living things. His eyes adjusted to the room and it all came into view. Dead bodies lay twisted on the ground. The larger man’s mouth hung open, tongue lolling to one side. The second man, the talker, lay on his back, something protruding from his face. Daniel crept closer; weapon trained. It was a knife, a large one, like you might find in any chef-run restaurant in America. The knife was hilt deep in the man’s head. Dead for sure.
“Diane?” Daniel asked. Another form shifted in the farthest recess of the corner.
Another whine from Liberty.
“Daniel?” Her voice quivered. Daniel watched her get to her feet. He could see Liberty now, attached to her side. She walked forward and he lowered his weapon. “What are you doing here?” Her voice was more composed now. Sure. The Diane he’d once known. She’d changed after Cal’s kidnapping.
“I was… well, I was here to keep an eye on you.” He pointed at the bodies on the ground. “Fine job I did.”
He’d made the mistake. He’d planned for a more covert attack. These guys had come right to the front door.
“How long have you been watching me?” she was down on the floor now, searching pockets. There was no accusation in her tone, just cold calculation of what she’d possibly missed.
“Long enough to need a really good shave.”
It was an uncharacteristic joke, but there was something about the situation that warranted it. She knew Daniel was more the mountain man than the cosmopolitan, with his shoulder-length blonde hair and scraggly beard.
Diane pulled something from the smaller man’s pocket and held it up to the light from the doorway. It was a picture of her. “This is my graduation photo from UVA.”
She didn’t seem surprised.
“You knew they were coming, didn’t you?” Daniel asked.
“I had a hunch. Why do you think I’m way out in the boonies? I needed some time.”
Time?
“Why don’t we get somewhere safe and then maybe—”
Diane stood up abruptly and looked him square in the eye. “Why did he send you?”
“I told you. To keep an eye on you.”
“Yeah. You said that. But I want to know the real reason. I have my hunches, so why don’t you tell me Cal’s.”
In a little more than a minute Daniel told her all about Wilcox, the mysterious Russian, Cal’s secret meeting with President Yegorovich, and the dead guy at SSI headquarters.
“So, you’re saying I missed out on a few things?” She was grinning now. Funny how the dead guys on the floor didn’t bother her. That was either a testament to her natural grit or the time she’d spent with The Jefferson Group contingent. Probably a combination of both.
“Just a couple of things,” Daniel said. “Now tell me about your hunch.”
She didn’t immediately respond. She kept stroking the back of Liberty’s neck, thinking, like she was solving the most interesting puzzle in the world.
“It’s all connected,” she said finally.
“I know.”
She shook her head. “No, I mean everything you’ve told me and everything I’ve been working on.”
Daniel hadn’t seen her working on anything since he’d set up his surveillance. “Care to share?”
She was moving now, grabbing a pack and stuffing some clothes inside. “The bodies. What should we do about the bodies?”
“We’ll take care of that. Diane. What were you saying about working on something?”
She stopped in the middle of the room, inches from the growing blood puddle.
“I got lonely. Really lonely. I was in a bad place. I tried to work through it. Worked every night shift they’d let me. Damned well burned the wick from every angle I could. One night I got nostalgic. I’m not proud of it. Cal told me it was over, so that was it.” She looked at the floor as she went on. “I was angry. Or at least I wanted to be.” Diane looked up at him, not with tears in her eyes but a determination that spoke of the trials she’d endured alone. “I’m embarrassed of those first queries. I wanted something I could pin on him, make his life as miserable as mine felt. I dug and I dug. Lucky me, I didn’t find anything except all the good things he’s done, the lives he’s saved, the heroic action he’s taken. How could I hate a man like that?” Diane’s face softened. “I don’t know why he pushed me away, but I knew I couldn’t be angry. I kept looking anyway. I wanted an answer. I wanted to know why.”
Daniel sensed the punchline coming even though he’d never asked his friend for the deep truth. Some things were better left to a man’s soul and allowed to come back to the world when they were ready.
“You figured it out.”
Diane shook her head. “Not why he left me. But I found a truth that he needs to hear. Can you take me back to him? I mean, so I can tell him.”
“Of course. But before we go, why don’t you tell me so we can try and put the pieces together. What’s this all about, Diane? Why the Russians? And why Cal?”
Diane brushed an unruly strand of hair from her face and then reached out and put a hand on his arm. “It’s all about Cal’s dad. We need to tell him it’s because of Colonel Stokes.”
Chapter Seventy-Four
WEST BERLIN — 1986
Major Calvin Stokes flicked the spent cigarette into the trash. He’d have to ditch the habit before going home. His wife would hate it, especially around young Cal. His wife said his son did everything he did. Imagine the kid running around with a cigarette in his mouth, acting the spy like his father.
If only his wife and son knew he was playing spy. They thought he was in Germany on a joint assignment with the Army. Sure, he saw an Army doggie pal whenever he ran to the base for some much-needed American toiletries, but that was about it.
He fished another cigarette from the half-empty pack and lit it.
“Nasty habit,” he said aloud, like the words might echo back at him and convince him to stub it out for the last time. He inhaled deeply and let out a thin stream that hit the old desk in front of him. As much as he hated to admit it, the ratty spymaster he called his boss had been right. There weren’t many things the two men agreed on, but the fact that smoking lent itself well to spy craft was like saying chocolate chips went well with cookies. They just did.
And now he turned to his task at hand. Another secret he’d have to keep from his wife and probably one day his son. He wished to God that Cal would become a lawyer or maybe even a doctor. That way h
e wouldn’t have to make the life-altering decision his father was forced to make. Because here it was again. Stokes had the power to change lives, despite what the CIA and probably the Marine Corps might tell him to do instead.
The apartment building smelled like the heel of a hobo. Two rats scurried away at his approach. They seemed to be everywhere these days, and that made him cringe.
Stokes hurried into the building. He’d already done two full circuits around the block and was certain he hadn’t been followed.
Up two flights of stairs and down a hallway that smelled two parts piss and one part beef stew. Fifth door on the left.
He knocked lightly. The last thing he needed was a neighbor sticking their nose where it didn’t belong. He’d learned from painful experience that it was the innocent trespasses that screwed a mission, and less frequently the big bonehead moves.
He knocked again; this time louder. He could just make out the light step of the apartment’s tenant. And then the door creaked open, a thick chain barring a full view.
Two eyes, wide with fright.
“It’s me,” he said.
He was rewarded with a quick nod. The door closed, the chain went unlatched, and then the portal opened again. Stokes could barely see into the gloom of the place as he stepped inside. He’d just eased the door closed behind him when the apartment’s only inhabitant, a young woman with striking blonde hair and piercing green eyes quite literally sprang at him, wrapping her arms around his midsection.
“I was so scared. So scared.”
Stokes put one arm around her and the opposite hand stroked the back of her hair.
“It’s going to be okay, I promise.”
But all he could think about was what he would say to his wife if she walked in at that very moment.
Chapter Seventy-Five
YEGOROVICH — MOSCOW — PRESENT DAY
