The Lies Of Spies (Kyle Achilles Book 2)

by Tim Tigner

  He answered her honestly. “I’m confused.”

  “No doubt.” She stroked his cheek. “But I’ll take confused over the alternatives. I’ve been worried sick about you for the past thirty-two hours.”

  Achilles’ brain began catching up with his ears. She’d called him mon chou, a French term of endearment. The puzzles were multiplying, along with his list of questions. “How did I hit my head?”

  He tried to prop himself up on his elbows, but she gently pressed him back down, the words take it easy written large in her big, beautiful eyes.

  “I’m not sure. Maybe you slipped, but my guess is that something flew into it.”

  “Flew into it? Like a bird or a baseball?”

  “God only knows. Everything was flying about in the hurricane.”

  “Hurricane?”

  A dark cloud crossed her features. “You don’t remember?”

  Achilles started to shake his head, but stopped short when his injury screamed.

  She reached out and lightly stroked his hair. It was a very intimate gesture. “Hurricane Noreen. It grew to Category 4 in less than twenty-four hours, with 150 mile per hour winds. Caught everyone by surprise. We hunkered down to ride it out. We were curled up on the couch, watching the terrifying NOAA images while reporters shouted and the storm pounded. A couple of hours into it we heard a horrible crash overhead and the TV went blank. You tried switching to internet coverage, but when you discovered that it was also out, you resolved to go up on the roof and fix the satellite dish. I tried to stop you, but … well you know how you are.”

  Her face was so fraught with conflicting emotions that Achilles felt worse for her than for himself. She took a deep, composing breath, and continued. “That was around eleven PM. I was worried out of my mind by eleven-thirty when you still weren’t back. At midnight, I went up after you.”

  “Into the hurricane? Onto the roof?” Achilles propped himself up onto his elbows, this time without pushback. He was indeed on the flat roof of a single-story home.

  She focused on his face while he studied his surroundings. The lush vegetation around the oceanfront home looked like it had been blasted by a water cannon, but otherwise the scene before him was paradise.

  Finding it difficult to digest the onslaught of implications with a head that rang like a gong, Achilles lay back down. “What happened next?”

  Chapter 23

  Recognition

  ACHILLES’ SAVIOR repeated his question with anguish in her eyes, reliving the moment. “What happened next…”

  She took his hands. “I’d never stepped into a hurricane before. Everyone has felt strong wind, but this was ridiculous. I could barely stand up against it. The rain blasted sideways, as if from a fire hose. When I didn’t see you, my first thought was that you’d blown away. But it’s a big roof and the night was dark as a cave, so I began searching for you on my hands and knees.” She gripped his hands tighter.

  “Searching for you was bad, but actually finding you was the worst moment of my life. You were laying face-down, positioned like a chalk outline at a murder scene, with water sluicing all around you and the wind ripping at your clothes. I thought you were dead.”

  She paused to steady her nerves with a deep breath. “The only light I had was the flashlight on my phone, but when I set it down to check your pulse the water shorted it out. So I was stuck feeling you out in the dark. My heart leapt when I found your pulse. Then I felt your breathing, but with all the water I couldn’t tell if you were bleeding. You wouldn’t wake up, and I was afraid to shake you. So I just lay down next to you, to help keep you warm.”

  Achilles felt dumbfounded by the whole situation — and his lack of memory surrounding not just the accident, but everything leading up to it. And yet there he was, on a rooftop. Looking around, her story made perfect sense. Much more sense than anything else he could come up with. He returned his gaze to her.

  “You back with me now?”

  Despite the crazy conditions, he couldn’t help but find her French accent adorable. “I’m back. Please continue.”

  “The storm faded rapidly about an hour after I found you. Some time later you started to toss about. That comforted me, because then I knew you weren’t paralyzed. I decided it was safe to move you. But I didn’t want to drag you, and of course you’re too heavy for me to carry. So I decided to bring a bed to you.” She let go of his hands, and began gesturing.

  “I went down and got a couple of dry cushions out of the shed. I rolled you onto one and lay down on the other. When the sun rose, I examined you as thoroughly as I could. The only wound I found was that nasty one on your head.”

  Achilles stared up at his courageous savior, with her big brown eyes and her mane of dark locks, and he felt a mighty wave of gratitude wash over his heart. Uplifting though that was, it still left him drifting in a sea of confusion. This wonderful woman had just risked her own life to save his. She’d also shown great presence of mind — and yet hadn’t thought to call an ambulance.

  Stress did funny things.

  He probed the back of his head with a couple of fingers. It was tender, and there was a large lump with some scabbing, but he’d suffered worse. Of course it wasn’t the damage to the outside that posed the danger. The real risk from head injuries like his was a subdural hematoma. “I feel fine, but we should probably call an ambulance. Just to be sure.”

  She recoiled with a scowl. “Don’t you think I’d have done that already, if it was possible?”

  “It’s not?”

  She grabbed two iPhones off the rooftop and spread them into a V like playing cards to display their blank screens. “It was your idea to use them like flashlights during the hurricane.”

  “Of course. Sorry. I’m not at my best. Let’s drive to the hospital. Maybe stop for breakfast on the way. I’m starving.”

  Her jaw dropped a little, and her lower lip began to quiver. When she spoke, her words came out low and slow. “Where do you think we are?”

  That was a good question.

  He’d gone to Lover’s Leap to do some climbing while puzzling out the Korovin assassination. Nothing helped to focus his mind like a good climb. He didn’t remember coming back. He also didn’t remember a hurricane ever striking Northern California. His hunger gave way to an uneasy feeling in his stomach.

  Rather than risking saying something stupid, he rose to his feet for some direct reconnaissance. Beyond the rooftop was lush green vegetation, and beyond the vegetation was glistening white sand, and beyond the sand was sparkling blue water. Beautiful turquoise-blue ocean water — not the dark, Northern California kind.

  He spun around, slowly, taking in the beautiful scene. For half the circle, he enjoyed a beachfront view. For the other hundred-eighty degrees or so, greenery extended toward a large boulder or volcanic cone that jutted out of the sea and rose hundreds of feet into the air. Aside from the windswept appearance rendered by 150 mile per hour winds, it was pure tropical paradise. A climber’s paradise. His kind of place — but unfamiliar.

  He turned back to the woman.

  She wore a mask of panic and was studying his face as though the secret to eternal youth was written on his forehead. No sense tiptoeing at this point. “I have no idea where we are. I don’t recognize this place. And, I’m sorry, but I also don’t recognize you.”

  Chapter 24

  Miss Muffet

  The Kremlin

  IGNATY LOOKED DOWN at the ringing phone. It wasn’t his cell phone. It was his encrypted VOIP phone, the one he used to communicate with agents in the field. At the moment he only had two active agents, Max and Muffet, and he wasn’t expecting a call from either.

  He hit accept. “I’m listening.”

  “I think they’re on to me.”

  It was Miss Muffet, his White House mole. His gold mine. His miracle worker. If he lost her now, it would be disastrous. Korovin was all over Ignaty for daily updates, and without Muffet he’d be blind in Washington. He would
do whatever it took to keep her in place until Sunset was complete and the FBI investigation was derailed chasing wild Chinese geese. But he doubted they were on to her. “What makes you say that?”

  “Just a feeling,” she said, clearly trying to sound certain.

  Muffet wasn’t a typical agent. In fact, she was the opposite of typical, which was what made her so effective. You never saw her coming. But that cloak came with a price. She needed coddling.

  To the extent that Ignaty understood empathy, he could empathize. She didn’t have anyone else. That was by design. He’d gotten her as the result of a long con that involved taking out her husband while leaving her penniless and thus ripe for the plucking. He’d positioned himself as her white knight, and now he had to play the part. That wasn’t always easy. She was needy and vulnerable, but far from stupid. “Did you see anything that makes you suspicious?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Hear anything?”

  “No. It’s not like that. As I said, it’s more of a feeling.” Her voice trembled with an odd combination of fear and resolve. “I’ve been giving you a lot lately. Very sensitive, very valuable information. I know you must be acting on it, and I know those actions are sure to lead to investigations — investigations which put me at risk.”

  She was right about that. The mother of all investigations would be launched just a few short weeks from now. He didn’t expect Miss Muffet to survive Sunset, but he planned to ride her hard, right off that cliff.

  Now that he thought about it, Ignaty realized that she wasn’t just being paranoid. Her intuition was spot-on. Of course, he wasn’t about to tell her that. “They’re always investigating, but they never get anywhere. It took them an entire decade to find Bin Laden. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

  “Maybe yes, maybe no,” she replied, her voice showing increasing signs of strain. “But if you want me to take that chance, you’re going to have to improve our arrangement.”

  Ignaty couldn’t believe it. Little Miss Muffet was shaking him down. He had to smile at that. He was paying her $1,000 per transmission, giving her an income of about $3,000 a week. It was enough for her to live comfortably, even in Washington, but not enough for her to get ahead. Apparently she’d figured that out. “What did you have in mind?”

  “Something more commensurate with the risk.”

  Commensurate, Ignaty repeated to himself. Was she a lawyer now? “Have you thought about the risk of my finding another source? What would you do then?”

  “Good question. What would I do then? I don’t know. So I need to be prepared. Financially prepared.”

  Who’d put steel in her spine all of a sudden? Had she been watching reruns of some 1980’s detective series? Ignaty decided to shake her tree and shake it hard, make her grateful for what she had. But later. For now, he would mollify her. Keep her producing. “What would make you happy?”

  “I want to be paid what my work is worth. I want $100,000 per transmission.”

  Ignaty inhaled deeply, audibly. Apparently that shaking couldn’t wait.

  The money wasn’t an issue. He had unlimited funds, and Muffet’s transmissions would be a bargain even at $1 million apiece. But the independence that she’d gain if she had financial freedom posed a threat. Ignaty couldn’t abide threats.

  Time for a bit of brinksmanship.

  “How about this. How about you let me know when $1,000 is sounding good again, and we’ll see if I still need you.” He disconnected the call.

  Chapter 25

  All That Jas

  ACHILLES STUDIED the face of his savior. She didn’t scream or slap or freak out at the revelation that he didn’t recall her. She just stared at him while a single tear rolled from each of her big dark eyes.

  Without a word, she took his hand and led him across the roof. They climbed down through a trap door into a utility room, then passed through a pantry into a million dollar kitchen.

  She repositioned two chairs so they could sit knee to knee, while holding hands. After inhaling deeply, she looked him in the eye, and began. “My name is Sophia. Sophia … Dufour … Achilles. But you call me Jas. We’ve been married for seven months.”

  Achilles was too shocked to reply.

  “We’re on Nuikaohao Island, which is an islet really, in the Hawaiian chain. It belongs to my parents, but they won’t be here until the first week of January. They’re in Cannes through New Year. I’m just rambling now. I’m sorry. I’m a bit scared and don’t know what to say. I’ve been scared sick ever since I found you. I’m an artist, not a doctor.”

  “So we’re the only ones on . . .”

  “Nui-kao-hao,” Jas repeated. “It means big goat horn, which is the shape of the rock formation that constitutes most of the island. Your favorite feature, of course.”

  “There are no natives, or neighbors, or servants on Nuikaohao?”

  “Just us. We’re only sixty kilometers from Kauai, which we can cover in thirty minutes on the speedboat in calm seas. But the hurricane took the speedboat.”

  “The hurricane took the speedboat,” he repeated, allowing the situation to sink in. “So we’re stuck? On an island? Without a boat or phone or internet?”

  “The whole island chain is a mess, I’m sure. Hurricane Noreen caught everyone unaware. It was calm before the storm, of course, so we didn’t have warning.”

  “Surely there would have been alerts?”

  “Undoubtedly there were. But you were out climbing all day, and I was busy painting, listening to my playlist, not a broadcast. We didn’t check the news until the storm hit our island. Then we saw the huge spinning white cloud on the radar map and nearly had heart attacks.”

  Achilles could picture that scene. He’d sat out many a tense situation waiting for news. “If we’re living on a private island, surely we have a two-way radio?”

  “It was on the boat.”

  “That was short sighted.”

  “Not everyone thinks like you do, Achilles. My parents aren’t always expecting armageddon. And to be fair, this is Hawaii, not Karachi. They obviously built the house right, it’s hardly got a scratch.”

  Yeah, just the satellite dish. Achilles was used to planning for double and triple redundancy of critical systems, but he knew Jas was right. That wasn’t the norm. He regretted his outburst. Still, the contractor should have protected the dish. Although, come to think of it, he wasn’t sure how you’d do that. He’d never seen a dish in a cage. “Sorry. What’s the plan?”

  Her features relaxed in response to his words, making Achilles feel bad about adding to her tension. “I’m sure the Coast Guard will be by to check on us any time now. I’m a bit surprised they haven’t shown up yet. They know we’re here, as we registered with them back on Kauai. But I’m sure they have their hands full dealing with the damage Noreen inflicted on the main islands.”

  “Why are we here?”

  “Vacationing in Hawaii? For free? In a luxury home on a private island with an art studio and a 312-foot sea cliff you said would rate at least a 5.12?”

  Hard to argue with that, not that he was trying to be argumentative. Achilles was just trying to gain his bearings. Find solid ground. She’d just given him some by speaking the language of climbing. Jas’s 5.12 remark told him a lot about both her and their relationship. The “5” on Nuikaohao’s cliff meant that climbing it required technical skill, that it was significantly more vertical than horizontal. The 12 indicated the difficulty on a scale running from 1 up to 15. To tackle a 5.12, a person had to be comfortable climbing rock faces that would appear impossible to anyone but a pro.

  His failure to take Jas’s emotional strain into consideration concerned him. It told him that he was off his game. That was understandable, but disconcerting. He paused to confirm that he wasn’t imagining everything. Odd experiences with strangers were common enough while dreaming. But he quickly dismissed the thought. The edges of his perception weren’t cloudy. Time wasn’t amorphous. And, come to thin
k of it, he had to pee. “Where’s the bathroom?”

  She pointed over his left shoulder. “I’ll get breakfast started.”

  The master bathroom was the size of some inner-city apartments. It included opposing his-and-hers sinks with generous granite countertops, and a walk-in glass-brick shower. A bathtub easily large enough for two rested beneath a picture window that framed the Big Goat Horn.

  Achilles made quick use of the facilities and then checked his pupils in the mirror while turning the lights on and off. They responded. A good sign that the knock to his noggin hadn’t been too severe.

  He moved on to the makeup station he’d passed while walking through the master bedroom. It was a white wooden desk topped with a trifold mirror and ornamented with carved roses. Resting atop the right wing, behind a ceramic curling iron and an overstuffed makeup bag, a silver framed photo gleamed in the morning sunlight. A wedding couple on a beach.

  He picked it up.

  The groom was standing in the surf with his shoes off and his black tuxedo pants rolled up. He was holding the bride in his arms and they were both beaming. The bride was the woman cooking his breakfast. Achilles was the groom.

  Chapter 26

  Beyond Marriage

  Hawaii

  ACHILLES STARED at the picture in disbelief. He was married.

  To a woman he didn’t know.

  Or was he? Achilles scrutinized the picture of his face. The cheekbones, the chin, the hairline. No doubt it was him. The image itself gave him a familiar feeling. He had seen it before. But he still couldn’t remember the day, or more importantly, the bride.

  Only once in his remembered-life had Achilles contemplated marriage. But that was during an odd relationship, one that had never been consummated. Apparently Katya had moved on, or he had. The thought pained him. He wondered if Katya was also married now, but decided he’d hold off on asking Jas that question. He’d only been bumped on the head, not beheaded.