by Rachel Lee
Her chin sank a little, but her eyes lifted to his with a kind of wondering shyness and pleasure that gave him some inkling of how little she thought of herself. “You mean you think I can help you?”
“Absolutely,” he said firmly. “Not only that, but I don’t think I’ll get very far without your help. Until I get a better idea of who’s who and who makes a good suspect, I can’t risk trusting anyone else at MTI. Will you help?”
“Of course I will.”
Arlen smiled. “Good. The first thing is that when that document turns up tomorrow, and I’m positive it will, you can’t argue too hard with the idea that you mislaid it. I’m not saying you should be thrilled with the possibility, but you should be just as relieved as everyone else when it shows up, and only a little more reluctant to believe that you were responsible.”
Jessica wasn’t happy with that, but she nodded her agreement. “I get the idea.”
“I know it hurts,” Arlen said sympathetically, “but try to look at it from another perspective. This uproar has undoubtedly scared somebody, and if he stays scared, we’ll never get our hands on him. It’s essential that we catch him, so we can stop him, so we can find out how long and how much he’s been compromising us, and who he’s working for.”
He came around the coffee table to stand right beside Jessica, and touched her shoulder lightly with his fingers. “Maybe it’ll help if you think of yourself as an agent working undercover. That’s what you’ll be, you know. In a very real sense.”
Jessica tilted her head, looking dubiously up at him. “Just by pretending to believe I mislaid that document?”
“That’s part of it.” Arlen squatted, resting his elbows on his knees, bringing his face level with Jessica’s. “I also want you to start paying close attention to the people around you. Notice whether any of them seem to be seriously troubled, or disgruntled with MTI. Notice if any of them seem to be living too well, or drinking too much—anything that might indicate they’re not entirely trustworthy.”
That idea didn’t sit well with her, Arlen could tell. Most people didn’t like the idea of spying on their coworkers or friends.
“Jessica, I’m not asking you to spy on people. I’m just asking you to pay attention to your impressions of people. See if anyone’s attitude makes you genuinely uneasy about what they might do. You have to remember what’s at stake here.”
He was right, of course, Jessica thought. They were talking about national security. If she had evidence that would convict a murderer, would she withhold it? Of course not. This was a crime, too, potentially as serious as murder to soldiers who might someday depend on the efficacy of MTI-supplied equipment and software to protect them in the field.
Turning, Jessica looked Arlen right in the eye. “I’ll do it,” she said firmly. “What about you? What will you be doing?”
“Well,” he said, standing up, “I’ll start by calling DIS—Defense Investigative Service—and getting a complete report on the security arrangements at MTI. For example, I imagine the vault you referred to is patrolled by armed guards round the clock.”
“Well, yes, I think so. Guards are necessary for the protection of Top Secret information. That’s why I can’t keep it in my safe.”
“Exactly. DIS can give me a complete rundown. They had to approve all the arrangements to begin with, and I imagine they inspect things pretty thoroughly every few months.”
Jessica nodded. When the DIS inspectors came in they usually managed to spend a few minutes talking to each and every one of the employees who were cleared for access to classified information.
“And tomorrow,” Arlen continued, “I’ll initiate background checks on all the people who have access to your controlled area. Maybe we can find someone who’s in financial trouble, or who’s vulnerable to blackmail. Maybe we can close this out quickly.”
Looking down at her, he shrugged and gave her a crooked, rueful smile. “But don’t hold your breath. I used to work in the Foreign Counterintelligence Division of the Bureau in the Washington area. It can take months to gather enough evidence to prosecute.”
Jessica sighed and looked down at her hands. “So it’ll probably drag on.”
“Probably. But look at the bright side.”
“Is there one?” She gave him a doubtful smile.
“Sure. We get to become acquainted. Really well acquainted. In fact, I guarantee you’ll be sick of the sight of me before this is over.”
Jessica shook her head, laughing. “I can’t imagine that,” she said, the words slipping out before she knew they were coming.
Arlen watched the brilliant color flood her face, saw the dawning of her shocked embarrassment. Her reaction gave more weight to her words than he would otherwise have assigned them. If she hadn’t blushed, he would have thought she was teasing. Because she’d blushed, he knew she wasn’t.
And he was astonished how good that little slip of the tongue made him feel. Not since Lucy’s death had anyone said anything that made him feel good. Angry, maybe. Irritated, yes. But not good. Good feelings seemed to have left his life along with Lucy. And, to be quite honest, he wasn’t sure he wanted them back. Those feelings had a price, and he’d paid it once.
So, knowing she wasn’t teasing, he acted as if she was. “You think you won’t only because you haven’t had to look at me every day for a week or a month,” he said, chuckling and turning away as if he hadn’t seen her blush.
“I’ll let you get some rest now, Jessica,” he continued, heading for the door. “Call me if you have any questions.”
He paused suddenly and turned back, patting his pockets. “I must have my card here somewhere. Although maybe it’s better if you don’t carry it around with you.”
“I can reach you at the FBI office, can’t I?” she asked, her embarrassment fading as he seemed to notice nothing remarkable about her comment. “I don’t really need your card.”
“You can reach me at home, too,” he told her. “And I really don’t mind if you call. The number’s in the book. And if I need to get hold of you, what’s your office number?”
He pulled the pen and pad from his pocket, but Jessica forestalled him with her business card. Arlen’s gray eyes twinkled down at her.
“You’re better prepared than I am,” he confessed. “If something comes up, I’ll call.”
He took his leave almost with a sense of relief. Damn it, Arlen, he thought, the lady’s young enough to be your daughter, and you’re too damn old and wise to get tangled up with her.
And maybe, he thought a few minutes later, she wasn’t as young as she looked. Maybe he was going to start feeling again whether he wanted to or not. Three years was a long time. Maybe even dead feelings came back to life after enough time passed. Maybe, no matter how much you wanted them to stay gone, they just came back anyhow.
Chapter 2
Arlen arrived at the Bureau offices in the morning to find things in an uproar. One of the agents, Ted Wilson, was cooperating with the Secret Service in a sting operation, and overnight they’d rounded up five major drug dealers who were selling crack and coke for food stamps. The Drug Enforcement Administration had gotten involved somewhere along the way, and as near as Arlen could tell they had U.S. marshals, DEA agents, Secret Service agents and even, unless he was mistaken, a Customs agent, in the hallways and offices of the Bureau. They lacked only a U.S. Attorney, and it wasn’t more than a couple of minutes before one showed up. Carolyn Granger came downstairs with a tape recorder, warning everyone that unless somebody gave her some good reasons to use with the judge, the dealers would be out on bail in a couple of hours.
Arlen paused at Ted Wilson’s office door and leaned in to congratulate the young agent. Wilson, looking tired and rumpled in jeans and an FBI windbreaker, grinned up at him. “Thanks, Chief. It feels pretty good.”
“What’s all the congregation for?”
“Well, they’re painting all the Treasury offices, which means the Secret Service guys and
the Customs guys are grabbing any excuse to stay out of there. I think DEA’s just curious.”
“Arlen?” The voice of his secretary, Donna, rose above the din and reached him down the length of the hall.
“Yo!” Twisting his head and leaning backward into the hall, he could just see her.
“It’s someone named Jessica on the phone.”
“Tell her I’ll be there in just a minute.” He looked back at Ted. “We do have some other work to accomplish here today.”
“Sure thing, boss.” Ted’s grin broadened. “I think it’ll calm down pretty quick. These guys were supposed to be at their desks ten minutes ago, anyway.”
It was impossible not to grin back. This was Ted’s first bust, and Arlen had no trouble remembering the exhilaration he’d felt his own first time. Walking down the hall, he edged around similarly jubilant men and escaped into the quiet of his own office.
Three of the lines on his phone were lit, so he buzzed Donna and found out that Jessica was on two.
“Jessica,” he said pleasantly into the phone, swiveling his chair to look up at the gray sky that promised rain before the morning was out. For years he’d worked in an office without a window, and the nicest part of his current assignment, he sometimes thought, was the window, with its view of the sky. “Are you calling from work?”
“Yes, I—”
He interrupted her quickly, but kept his tone casual. “Don’t tell me you’re canceling our lunch date.”
At the other end of the line, Jessica drew a total blank. Lunch date? She didn’t remember making a lunch date with Arlen. “I was just going to—”
“I can change the time if that’ll make it easier for you to meet me,” he said smoothly. “Noon instead of one o’clock? Would that be better?”
“I—I guess.” Flabbergasted, she didn’t know what else to say.
“Good! I’ll pick you up out front at noon, then. I’m sorry I can’t talk, but you know how it is at work. I’m already late for a meeting. See you at noon.”
At her own desk on the other side of town, Jessica listened to the hum of the empty phone line as she looked down into the safe drawer. The document was back, all right, stuffed down beneath the other folders so that it lay on the bottom of the drawer. If Arlen hadn’t predicted it, she would probably be thinking she was losing her mind. There was no way she could have missed it in her search yesterday, and yet she would have wondered anyway.
And for some reason Arlen didn’t want to discuss the matter over the phone while she was at work. At least, that was the only conclusion she could draw from their crazy conversation. But she’d wanted to ask him what to do, because it had occurred to her that the red folder or the pages of the document might have fingerprints on them. If she called security first, they would probably send someone up to check things out and ruin all the prints. If there were any.
Troubled, she closed the safe and sat back in her chair. Well, she could wait until after lunch to tell security she had the document. It would make her look even dippier, but what the heck. There was evidently no way she was going to come out of this looking good.
In the meantime, she had a great deal of work still to accomplish on her design for this new software project.
And someone had been in her safe again last night. The idea sent chills racing up and down her spine. In that safe were highly classified details about the Western world’s electronic countermeasures systems. There were threat estimates and survivability estimates, all of which would be very useful to America’s enemies.
In defense work, there were three main levels of classification. Confidential, the lowest, was given to information that could cause serious damage to national security if it fell into the wrong hands. Secret, the next highest, was given to information that could cause grave damage. Those were the levels in her safe. Quite a serious problem, to have someone rummaging around in those documents.
But what if that someone also had access to the guarded vault downstairs? That was where the Top Secret documents were kept, documents that by definition could cause exceptionally grave damage to national security, or even provoke war. It was downright scary even to think about.
And whoever had the combination to her safe probably did have access to the vault, because that was where copies of the combinations for every safe in the building were kept. Somehow this person must have gotten to that copy. And that meant everything in the building was open to him.
It was not yet nine in the morning, but Jessica found herself rubbing her temples to ease a growing throb. Take some aspirin and forget it, Jess, she told herself. Just focus your mind on work.
“Hey, Jessica.” Bob Harrow stood in her office door, looking his usual seedy self, with his hair standing up wildly and a stain of some kind on the front of his T-shirt. “Did you finish your part of the design yet?” As project director, Bob had the unenviable task of trying to keep the team on track.
“Not yet, Bob. Sorry. Yesterday blew me out of the water.”
Bob looked sympathetic. “You don’t look any too great this morning, kiddo. Don’t beat yourself over the head about it, Jessica. You won’t be the first programmer up here who’s spaced something out and found it two days later. Why do you think they put the digital locks on the door? I keep waiting for them to come up with retina identification equipment so they don’t have to worry about one of us scribbling the door code on our pant leg or something.”
But Jessica’s mind caught on something he said. “You mean other people have mislaid things up here? When did that happen?”
“It happens all the time.” Bob shrugged. “Well, not every day, but it was…oh, maybe a month ago that Jerry couldn’t find some report or other on some NATO test. It turned up under a stack of papers on his desk the next day. If you ask me, the only mistake you made was telling security about it. Those guys are completely useless. Did they find it for you? Nope. They just drove you crazy, and yet they’re perfectly convinced it’ll turn up today or tomorrow under some papers somewhere. And it will, Jessica. Believe me. Quit worrying about it.”
Jessica summoned a smile. “You wouldn’t really write the door code on your jeans leg, would you?”
“Well, I wouldn’t, but it wouldn’t surprise me if Mike or Carl did something stupid like that. I swear, neither one of them can think except in assembly language. Well, don’t let me keep you from working. And, Jessica, if this has still got you upset, don’t worry about the design. We’ve got a little slack and can wait a little longer.”
Alone again, Jessica took two aspirin and forced her attention to her work. Work, she’d discovered a long time ago, was solace.
Arlen pulled his car up under the overhang in front of MTI’s main entrance to wait for Jessica. He left the engine running and the defroster blowing to keep the windows clear. The day had turned unexpectedly cold and miserably wet. He was glad he had an old umbrella in the backseat, because he suspected Jessica had probably misjudged the weather this morning just as he had.
Jessica. He’d been thinking about her a little too often for his own peace of mind. Such a severe little mouse of a woman, he told himself, and then remembered the unusual brilliance of her brown eyes and the soft shell-pink of her full lips. Or the fact that her loosely cut gray slacks and high-necked white blouse had hinted at a figure that was better than average.
Well, better than average if you liked women with some meat on them, Arlen thought wryly. He guessed he did, to judge by his reaction to the lady. It hadn’t been something he’d really thought about before.
He’d dated Lucy all the way through high school, over her family’s ceaseless objections, and married her a week after graduation. Then had come an eighteen-month separation while he went to Desert Storm with the marines. He’d returned from the Middle East with a couple of medals to rejoin his bride and meet his eleven-month-old daughter, Melanie. And nine months after that, Andrew had been born. Two years later, he was out of the marines and in college on t
he GI Bill, both him and Lucy working to support the kids. The hard times had paid off in a big way when he fulfilled his life’s dream of joining the FBI.
Sighing, he looked back with a kind of nostalgic sadness. How young and invulnerable he and Lucy had been then, both of them sure that the hard times were over. Life had a hell of a way of grinding out the smugness of youth.
Exiting the building through the electronically controlled glass doors, Jessica caught sight of Arlen just moments before he spied her. In that instant she thought he looked sad. Alone. The way she felt inside all too often. Did she look like that to others?
But he smiled as he climbed out of the car and came around to open the door for her. That lopsided smile of his was infectious, she realized as she felt her own lips stretch and lift in response. Today he wore another, darker, gray wool suit, and he once again looked very much like the FBI agents of her imaginings. Very neat, very correct. Very tall and very imposing. Strange, nervous little tickles danced through her stomach.
But Arlen didn’t act like her image of an agent. As she slipped past him to get into the car, he bent without warning and kissed her lightly on the cheek. When she looked up at him in astonishment, he further confounded her by laughing and dropping a kiss on the tip of her nose.
“Climb in, honey. It’s cold out here.” Still smiling, he urged her into the car.
Honey? Surely he couldn’t be one of those awful men who called every woman honey. Awful as that thought was, she was even more astounded to realize that some fugitive part of her wished he really meant it. She couldn’t help thinking that it must be really nice to have someone in your life who called you “honey” and surprised you with kisses.
But a very long time ago Jessica had decided it was wisest to avoid men. The boys in high school had scorned her because she was too poor, too plump, too smart and wore glasses. She was one of the very few girls who didn’t go to her senior prom.
Things like that had hurt, of course, but nothing had prepared her for the anguish she discovered in college. Prince Charming had arrived in her freshman year in the guise of a premed student. To this day Jessica considered herself fortunate to have discovered that he was more interested in having her do his programming assignments than he was in her love, and that wooing her had been just a way of buying her brains.
