by David Archer
“Thanks, Nick,” Allison said. “It’s not always easy, but somebody’s got to do it.”
Weber nodded. “Somehow, though, I don’t think you’re here to reminisce about the good old days in the Middle East room. What can I do for you, Allison?”
Allison leaned slightly toward him. “Nick, there are very few people in this world I actually trust, and when it comes to the Company, I could count them on half of one hand. You’re at the top of a very short list, and I need your help with something.”
“Name it,” Weber said. “Bear in mind that I’m only the deputy director, so I’m not certain how much good I can do you.”
“I’m after intelligence. You’ve heard that the CIA has a mole, correct?”
Weber nodded again. “It’s not exactly the best-kept secret around here.”
“Well, that mole has been causing me a lot of headaches. A couple of months ago, my best team was almost compromised when one of its people was snatched and sold to the Chinese at the mole’s direction. She underwent some pretty dramatic interrogation, but we managed to get her back before any real damage was done, and then we learned that the reason behind it all was that the Chinese were trying to identify that team’s leader.”
“Camelot,” Weber said. “Right?”
“Well, I see you’ve done your homework. How much do you know about Camelot?”
“Not a lot, actually. We just see that code name come up from time to time. We’ve figured out that your organization uses mythical names for the teams, but Camelot seems to be one of your most active. There is enough chatter about Camelot in a lot of our information to tell me that the Chinese aren’t the only ones trying to figure out who he is.”
“True,” Allison said. “He gave the Russians some fits a while back, and the Brits have tried to get information on who he really is, but it’s the mole who almost accomplished it. Turns out there were several people in my organization who had been blackmailed into cooperation, but we’ve been able to identify them all, now, or at least we think so.”
Weber scowled. “We’ve had a few of those in the Company, as well, which is one reason the very existence of the mole is not widely known. Our internal investigation wants to keep him from knowing exactly how much we’ve learned about him, so we never confirm or deny his existence. So far, most of our people think he’s just a rumor.”
Allison smiled. “Well, I can tell that you don’t know much,” she said. “I suspect we know considerably more than you do, in fact, because we set up a sting to try to catch him. Unfortunately, the only thing we’ve managed to learn so far is that he is a she.”
Weber sat forward and put his hands on his desk. “A woman?”
“Yes. I’m here to see if giving you what I know will help us figure out together just who on earth she might be. Will you work with me on this?”
“Of course,” Weber said.
“Good. The mole is a woman, approximately four feet and eleven inches tall, and appears to be in her late thirties or early forties. She would be considered trim and attractive, with the figure of a teenager. The one time she’s been seen, her hair was blonde and her eyes were blue, and she went by the name of Monique. I’ve checked every roster of Company staff and employees I can get to, and nobody seems to fit that description. Any idea who she could be?”
Weber’s eyes were narrowed as he seemed to be deep in thought. “Monique…” he whispered softly. “The name doesn’t ring any bells, and I can’t think of anybody who would fit that description. Hair and eye color can be changed, of course, but the size… Give me just a minute.”
He got up from his chair and walked out of the office, leaving Allison where she sat. He was gone about five minutes, then came back in with a young woman following him.
“Colonel Hogan, this is Miranda Spillman. Miranda is one of my best analysts and the only one in my offices who knows that the mole exists for certain. That’s because I assigned her to go through every bit of intelligence we’ve got on this person and report directly to me. I just told her what you shared with me, and I wanted you to hear her response for yourself.”
Allison turned and looked at Miranda, who seemed nervous. “Mr. Weber says that you somehow determined that the mole is a woman who is slightly less than five feet tall, somewhere around forty years old, and who would be considered both fit and attractive, correct?”
“That’s correct,” Allison said.
“There’s a woman who fits that description who has been seen several times in different situations that we know the mole was involved in. I do not have a name for her, but when I add her appearances to the information you’ve just shared with us, I suspect we may be talking about the same person. In each of the appearances I’m aware of, she has claimed only to be the representative of someone unknown, someone who seems to have sent her to influence a political action or decision. In some cases, she does so by seduction and blackmail. In others, she seems to appear shortly after a significant assassination, apparently to make sure the victim’s successor is aware that no one is untouchable.”
Allison rolled her eyes. “Well, at least she’s been noticed. Do you have any other information about her at all? Anything I can add to the little bit we’ve got?”
Miranda pressed her lips together for a second, then nodded. “From what we can tell, she’s an American. She is not, as far as we can ascertain, the employee of any government agency, but she seems to have some way to gain information from just about any of them. We know that she has used a threat of violence against loved ones to coerce others into doing her bidding, although none of the extortion victims we’ve identified has ever seen her face-to-face. All of the information we have on her comes from incidental eyewitness accounts, and until today, we would never have suspected that she was actually the mole, herself.”
Allison looked at the girl for a moment, then smiled. “Okay, quid pro quo. I can see you’re bursting at the seams to ask questions of your own, so go ahead.”
The girl’s eyes lit up. “How’d you gain your intelligence?”
“We knew that the mole was trying to get information about a particular operative, so we created a false dossier on that operative and allowed one of her victims to pass it off to her. She made contact with the operative using technology to conceal her identity and gender, but agreed to a meeting because she wants this operative to perform certain work exclusively for her. This particular operative is the most reliable eyewitness I have ever known, so we regard his description as completely accurate.”
“Can another meeting be arranged?” Miranda asked.
“Not at this time, but we hope there will be one in the not too distant future. Unfortunately, she arranges the meetings in such a way that we don’t have any advance warning. There’s no way we can set anything up ahead of time to try to capture her.”
Miranda nodded. “Did your operative happen to notice anything unusual about her hands?”
Allison’s eyes narrowed suddenly. “No. What about them?”
“In one of the eyewitness descriptions, it was said that her hands might be smaller than the rest of her body would suggest. They appeared to be about the size of a six-year-old child’s hands. Being almost five feet tall, that means that her hands are slightly out of proportion to her body. That would be a noticeable trait, so I was wondering if your operative saw it.”
Allison frowned. “If he did, he didn’t think it worth mentioning,” she said, “and that would not be like him. He tends to report everything he sees. Is it possible that particular witness was simply incorrect?”
“Oh, certainly,” Miranda said. “I’ve got three separate eyewitness descriptions of this person, and only one of them mentioned the small hands, so it could be nothing. That was why I asked you about it.”
“I’ll make sure to tell him to look if he gets another opportunity. If I find anything that corroborates it, I’ll let Nick know, and he can tell you.”
“Thank you, Colonel,” Miranda
said. She glanced at Weber, who nodded that she could go, and walked out the door.
“Well,” Weber said, “at least that gives enough confirmation that we can now work on the assumption that the mole is a woman. My only real question is how she could be manipulating your people and mine if she isn’t actually installed in one of our agencies.”
“Yes,” Allison said, “that is a pickle, isn’t it.”
* * * * *
The rest of Noah’s day was similar, as Morgan directed him from one location to another, introducing him to even more of his top people. Noah managed to snap at least one photo of each, just by fiddling with his sunglasses from time to time. They made it all the way to a house in Fayetteville by midafternoon, where Noah was introduced to a man named David Walters.
When Noah adjusted his glasses again, Morgan looked at him and grinned. “Those things giving you a problem?” he asked. “I see you fiddle with them a lot.”
Noah grinned. “They’re new,” he said. “I haven’t got them broken in yet.”
Morgan chuckled and turned back to Walters.
“Dave, here,” Morgan said after the introduction, “handles special problems. He’ll get all upset if I go into too much detail, but let’s just say that if somebody comes to us and is having a serious problem with somebody, Dave is the guy I call to make sure that problem goes away. I think of it as a necessary service we offer, because most of the problems he handles involve removing somebody dangerous from a situation, if you get my meaning. Ex-husbands who tend to get violent, that sort of thing.”
Noah had been briefed about Morgan’s criminal activities and was aware that murder for hire was one of them, but no one had known who headed up that part of the operation. Noah smiled and shook Walters’s hand while committing his name and face to memory.
“Good to meet you,” he said. “Sounds like you’re a good guy to know.”
“For some people,” Walters said. “Not for everybody.”
Noah looked him in the eye as they shook, and he knew that the man was watching for him to flinch. After a couple of seconds, Walters actually smiled.
“I see a kindred spirit,” he said. Noah gave a slight shrug, and they released each other’s hands.
Walters looked at Morgan. “So, this is the new guy,” he said, a statement rather than a question. “I’ve been hearing about him, and I was going to make a point of coming to meet him sooner or later. You might want to let me borrow him now and then. I think he might come in handy.”
Morgan grinned but just looked at him. “You think so?”
Walters indicated Noah with a short nod of his head. “This guy’s a killer, Jimmy,” he said. “Make sure he’s on our side, okay?”
“Hell, I know that,” Morgan said with a chuckle. “First thing he ever did for me was kill the little sucker who tried to shoot Ralphie. Snapped his neck, what I heard.”
“That’s not that hard to do, if you can get the leverage. Not too many people really know how to do it, though.” He turned to Noah. “How’d you learn it?”
“Beaumont federal prison,” Noah said. “It was that or die.”
Walters smiled. “My kind of guy,” he said.
They gave Walters a phone and Noah explained it, then told him to go by the Artel store and have it activated on his number. “With these,” Morgan said, “we can talk about anything right over the phone. No more having to speak in code, know what I mean?”
Walters nodded. “And you’re sure it’s secure?” He looked at Noah with this question.
“Absolutely secure,” Noah replied. “These things were actually built for the government, but the guy I got them from had the encryption tweaked so that even the government can’t break it. Nobody will be able to listen in on any call made between two of these phones, that’s certain.”
When they left Fayetteville, Morgan was ready to call it a day. Noah dropped him off at home an hour later and then headed for his place. He was almost back to the house when his phone rang, and he pulled it out to see that it was Marco calling.
“Hey,” he said as he answered. “I’m all alone at the moment, and the line is secure.”
“Cool,” Marco said. “I’m about two hours out. Just wanted to check in and see how you want to handle this. Should I come see this fancy farmhouse of yours or just get a hotel room?”
“Come on to the house,” Noah said. “I need to talk with you a bit before you meet anybody in the morning, anyway. I’ll text you the address so you can come straight in.”
“Okay, sounds good. Almost six thirty now, should I eat before I come?”
“I’ll have Sarah save you some dinner. See you when you get here.”
He ended the call, then used his thumb to punch in the address of the farmhouse and sent it off to Marco. When that was done, he tapped the speed dial icon for Sarah.
“Baby!” she said excitedly. “Are you headed home?”
“I am,” Noah said. “I was calling to see if you want me to pick up something for dinner. We got company coming in a couple of hours, and we all know Marco’s appetite.”
“Nope, I’m making spaghetti. There’ll be plenty, don’t worry; we’ll just keep it hot until he gets here. How was your day?”
“Pretty good. I’ve been meeting some of the top people, because Morgan has decided I’m his new right hand. I think things might just come together in the next few days.”
“Cool. How long before you get here?”
“About five more minutes,” Noah said. “See you then.”
“Okay, baby, I love you.”
“I love you, too,” he said, and then he reminded himself that he needed to say that to her more often.
He dropped the phone back into his pocket and relaxed, watching the road ahead and occasionally glancing into the rearview mirrors. The sun was a little low in the sky, but it was still daylight, so Noah looked again when a car in the distance behind him suddenly flashed its headlights.
The car was gaining on him rapidly, and Noah kept flicking his glance to the rearview mirror to watch it, even as he was paying attention to the road. The car was black and wasn’t one he had noticed before, so he eased his pistol from its holster and laid it in his lap.
It came up behind him and hung back a couple of car lengths, but he couldn’t make out who was driving. The lights flashed again, and then he heard the horn honking. Somebody was definitely trying to get his attention.
His next turn was coming up, so he put on the signal and began to slow. The car behind him also put on a turn signal, so he made it around the corner and pulled over to the side of the road. His follower parked behind him, and then the driver’s door opened.
The man who climbed out was Justin Haggard, allegedly the man who had hired Benny Smoot to try to kill Ralph Morgan a few days earlier. Noah gripped the pistol as the man walked toward his car, but he noticed that Haggard kept both of his hands out where they could be seen. He powered down the window and watched Haggard in the mirror on the door.
“Mr. Madison?” Haggard called while he was still approaching the car. “Mr. Madison, my name is Justin Haggard, and I need to talk to you. I’m unarmed, Mr. Madison. Can we just talk for a minute?”
Noah opened his door and stepped out, the gun visible in his hand as he did so. He didn’t aim it at Haggard but made sure the man could see that it would take only a split second to do so. He quickly looked around to be sure that there were no other vehicles in the area and there was no place where any other people might be hiding nearby.
“What can I do for you?” Noah asked.
“You can just listen for a minute, please? Would you do that?”
“I’m listening. Go ahead.”
“Okay, look,” Haggard said. “I heard that the word is going around that I tried to pay somebody to kill that Morgan boy. Man, I swear to you that’s not true. Everybody says Morgan has put out a contract on me, but I heard you were supposed to be the new second-in-command, so when I saw your car go by
I thought—well, I thought maybe I could try to get you to listen.”
Haggard was a big man, and Noah was struck again by his resemblance to Arnold Schwarzenegger. He had the same square face and iron jaw and was every bit as muscular as Schwarzenegger had been in his younger days. He had stopped about ten feet away and was still keeping his hands out in plain sight, but the sun was going down behind him and making it hard to see his face.
Noah used his left hand to reach into his pocket and pull out the sunglasses Wally had given him, then took them out of their case and put them on. They did help to cut the glare a bit, but it was the special features they had that he was most interested in at the moment.
“You didn’t hire Benny Smoot to shoot him?” Noah asked.
“No, sir,” Haggard said, “I sure didn’t.”
Still keeping part of his attention on Haggard, Noah watched the little orange dots. None of them changed color, and the text box did not appear.
“Why would somebody try to set you up for it?”
Haggard shook his head, his face reflecting bewilderment. “Mr. Madison, I’d say somebody wants me to get killed,” he said. “All I know is that people have been telling me the last few days that Morgan wants me dead, and to be perfectly honest, I’m so scared I can’t even think. I heard that you were working with him, and about your black Charger, and when I saw you go by a bit ago…”
Still no change in the dots, and Noah realized that the man was probably telling the truth. He slipped the pistol into its holster but kept his hand on the butt.
“Any idea who really did hire Benny?” Noah asked him.
Haggard suddenly looked nervous, and Noah watched the display in the sunglasses. “I—I might have an idea,” he said. “I think it might’ve been some people I’ve been working with, but I swear I didn’t know anything about it at the time. I’m not even sure, now, you understand, but I think I may have figured something out.”
Still no sign of deception, so Noah relaxed a bit more. “Who is it you’re working with?”
