by Josie Brown
She’d do anything for Carl.
Would she even work for Acme as a way to avenge his death?
Jack knew what that would entail. Nola was a perfect example of it.
So was Tatyana Zakharov.
It was the last thing Jack would wish for any woman.
He had to find some reason to convince Ryan that his scheme wouldn’t work.
He put his hand on Phyllis’ shoulder. “Perhaps you have some mementos that can help make the case that we have the right man.”
“I’ll tell you what, there’s a box in the garage—top shelf, marked ‘Shives.’ Big bold letters. When Donna came home from the hospital with her last little one, I stayed with her for a while. Donna tossed out a lot of stuff she just didn’t want anymore—family photos and old letters, that sort of thing. She said it made her sad. I’m holding onto it anyway, in case the little ones get curious about their mama’s folks. Heck, Carl had no family to speak of, so that makes me a living history lesson. Feel free to dig around in there. Just be sure to return it when you’re done making your case, okay?”
She waved him off to go back to her pruning.
He found the box, no problem, and put it beside him on the car’s passenger seat. He’d take it to Emma, back at the Venice apartment, which she used as her office, now that he was working from Hilldale. He could have her meet him, at Nola’s, but he guessed she’d feel just as uncomfortable as he did with Nola’s extracurricular activities.
Periodically, on the drive back to Hilldale, his eyes shifted toward the box. It bothered him that the items, which memorialized the average person, could be reduced to a sixteen-inch-by-twelve-inch-by-twelve-inch-square corrugated box.
For spies, it was even less. Nothing personal, no mementoes from their past, a mostly undocumented, unremembered life.
Perhaps the guns they left behind—that is, if they were not government-issued.
In most cases, even their IDs were false.
“Are you interested in Donna’s recipe book?” Emma asked.
Jack thought for a few moments, then shook his head. “I’m guessing there is nothing in it that can shed light on her character—unless she’s entering a county fair cooking contest.”
Emma nodded as she tossed the book to one side. “Hey, did you see this?” Emma held up a small pink leather book. Its pages were clasped in the middle with a band. “It’s Donna’s diary.”
He held up his hand. “Now, that’s what I’m talking about. Toss it over.”
“I don’t know if I should. It’s pretty old. The binding may give way.”
He walked over to retrieve it. It took just a second to pick the tiny lock, even without a key.
It was in Donna’s handwriting, alright. The first passage dated to her tenth birthday. The last was around the time she dated Carl.
Good, he thought. At least we’ll get some sort of idea if she had an inkling of how serious Carl’s job was. Maybe even some ideas of his actions, or moods.
He opened it and started reading.
The passages written when she was ten were all sunshine and lollipops.
By the time she was eleven, the tone of her musings were darker—she’d figured out her mother was sick, although neither Dave nor Mary Shives spoke of her mother’s illness to her.
She wasn’t too popular in school to begin with. Her anxiety made her less so. One pal stuck it out with her—an older girl, named CeeCee. She was popular, and took Donna under her wing, like a big sister.
At first, anyway. Somewhere along the line, the relationship went south. In the diary, Donna didn’t elaborate. But the heartache was there on the pages, both in prose and poetry.
Perhaps it had to do with the girl’s boyfriend, a boy named Bobby. Jack could read between the lines: although the boy was several years older than Donna, she had a deep, schoolgirl crush on him.
Whereas Donna knew it would go nowhere, CeeCee must have felt otherwise. The telltale signs were her taunts toward Bobby at Donna’s expense.
At that point, Donna wrote, Why does CeeCee hate me so much? Does she suspect how I feel about him?
One passage in particular was particularly poignant: about a tender kiss she’d shared with Bobby.
And CeeCee’s reaction to it: heartless.
Cruel.
Jack did an Interpol data base search for CeeCee Connelly.
When he found her, he let out a low whistle.
“What gives?” Emma asked.
“I just found a couple of credible sources who may be able to give us some relatable insights on Donna. The husband is a top investor in the tech world, and the wife—”
Emma snorted. “What, Aunt Phyllis’ farfetched memories aren’t good enough for you?”
Jack held up a finger to shush her. He was already punching in the number he needed.
“Hi…yes, is this Bobby?...Oh, Bob. Yes, well, my name is Jack Craig. I’m with Acme Industries, and I’m calling in regard to a background check on a potential employee. You would have known her from her maiden name—Donna Shives. Your wife would have known her as well…Oh? Yes, of course it’s not necessary to speak to her, too. I can imagine you both have very busy schedules. Your insights will be sufficient…Yes, I understand you knew Miss Shives—Donna—over two decades ago. Still, as a government-sanctioned agency, you can imagine our background checks have to be very thorough…Yes, I see. So you’d describe her as ‘honest’…and a straight shooter…Ha! Yes, I know, no pun intended…an honest and heartfelt individual…the bravest person you’ve ever known? Wow, that’s very high praise, sir…I’ll be sure it all gets in the report. Yes, she’s doing well—three children, still living in California…Tell her what? That you ‘have always thought the best of her?’ Um…I’m sorry Bob, in my capacity I won’t be talking to Donna directly…Good, I’m glad you understand…Yes, thank you for your time and help. Good-bye.”
Jack clicked off the line and sat quietly.
“Something wrong?” Emma asked.
He snapped to attention. “No, I guess not. The way that guy described Donna, I could tell he…he cared for her. And he certainly didn’t want me talking to his wife. Sounds like there was some bad blood there.”
Her eyes narrowed. “That makes Donna ‘the one that got away.’ With first boyfriends, those flames never grow cold. It’s the essence of arrested development.”
“Is that so? Has your first boyfriend sought you out?”
She smiled. “They all seek me out. I’m unforgettable.”
Obviously, so is Donna, he thought. I can vouch for that.
Chapter 16
Passive Probe
A mission in which an operative passively observes and records details about a target, location, or organization is called a passive probe.
If a date offers to passively probe you, allow him to do so at your own risk. Fair warning: nine months later, you may find yourself with a new mission.
“I heard from Ryan this morning.” Nola didn’t look up as she buttered her toast. “Crack of dawn. Ugh. You’d think the man would know better. I’m a working girl, after all.”
Jack frowned. “Let me guess—he’s checking up on my progress.”
“That wasn’t exactly how he put it.” She put down her knife and met his eyes. “I would use the word ‘non-progress,’ if it existed. To be quite frank with you, his exact words were, ‘Why in the hell is he dragging his fucking feet?’ At that point I reminded him he was talking to a lady with delicate sensibilities—”
“Sweetheart, you curse like a sailor.”
“Only while in the throes of passion, darling.” She honored him with a sly smile. “So, how in the hell would you know?”
“The walls in this joint are paper thin,” he muttered.
“Next time I’m out and about, I’ll pick up a pair of earplugs for you.” She hesitated. “Seriously, Jack, what’s taking so long? Emma says she checks out fine on paper. Other than Hilldale’s Stepford Wives, you can’t find anyo
ne who speaks ill of her—and only because she out-über-mommies them at every turn do they dislike her. To top it off, the woman runs mini-marathons for fun! And as much of a martyr as she is about the dearly-departed Carl, I’d say Donna Stone is ripe for the picking.”
“That’s the whole point.” He rose from the table, exasperated. “If she says yes to Ryan, her reason better be rock solid! If it’s revenge-driven, she may be more of a wild card than he would want. She’ll put others’ lives at risk, the way I put Carl’s on the line. And with three kids—his three kids, I might add—she’s got too much to lose.” Seeing the doubt on her face, he threw up his hands in disgust. “Why am I the only one who sees this?”
“Because you’re the only one in love with her.”
Jack nodded. It felt good to admit it.
“Look, I need you to do me a favor,” he muttered.
Curious, she tilted her head to one side. “Only if it’s fun.”
“I guess it could be, in the right light. Ask her to go out with you.”
She sighed. “Hey, I know there are a lot of rumors flying around about me, but seriously, I don’t swing that way—”
“No, not…! Hey, if anyone would know that, it’s me, okay? What I mean is a girl’s night out. Just the two of you. I’m sure her aunt would be happy to babysit. Tell her—I don’t know, tell her you need a shoulder to cry on, then take her to a nice, quiet bar. Get a few drinks in her, to loosen her tongue. If you let your hair down, she might, too.”
“What’s the point, Jack?”
“I want to hear from her, how she feels—about him. I’m tired of trying to figure it out with second-hand intel. I want to…I want to hear it from her.”
“In other words, you’ll mike me.”
“Yes. In fact, I’ll take a seat where I can see her.” And not just because he missed her, or that this would be a chance to see her, up close and personal.
He wanted to be there to see her face when she opened up.
Nola nodded. “Sure, okay, I’ll try it. But don’t get your hopes up. In all likelihood, she’ll say no.”
“It doesn’t hurt to ask.”
Nola tossed on a jacket over her negligee and started out the front door.
Jack sighed. “Whoa, hey—aren’t you forgetting something?”
“Oh! You’re right!” Nola turned around and ran upstairs.
A moment later when she came down, she had on stilettoes.
She’s hopeless, he thought, as she headed out the door.
“Donna said yes, she wouldn’t mind going out ‘with a friend,’ was how she put it,” Nola added.
Jack knew Nola would never admit it, but she was touched that Donna put it that way.
By the looks of it, the place Nola chose for them was everything Jack had asked for: the lounge had a well-stocked bar. It was large, but intimate, with lots of nooks and crannies. There were mirrors everywhere, so that even in the lounge’s low lighting he’d be able to watch Donna without being observed.
Immediately, things seemed to be going well. The women started out with polite chitchat. By the time they’d finished their first drink, the talk had moved on to neighborhood gossip. By the end of the second drink, they were giggling.
He loved to watch Donna laugh. It was even more special because he’d seen it so rarely.
“Now that we’ve talked of everyone else, tell me—what’s the scuttlebutt on me?” Nola asked with a sly smile.
Donna shook her head. “No you don’t! The last thing I’m going to do is insult the only person in Hilldale who actually has no hidden agenda with me.”
Nola stirred her martini with her olive. “Oh? How do you know that?”
“Well, first of all, you haven’t asked me to serve on any committees. Nor have you asked me to babysit.” Donna leaned in closer. “And thankfully, you haven’t asked me about my husband.”
“And I won’t, either.” Nola held out her hand for Donna to shake.
What the hell, Jack wondered. Is Nola too drunk to remember the whole purpose of why we’re here?
He was just about to give her the high sign when Donna said, “Frankly, there’s not much to say. Hell, you live across the street. You’ve seen it for yourself. He’s…gone.”
Donna’s mouth tightened.
As if that could hold back her tears.
If it’s this easy to get her to spill the beans, she’ll never be able to work for Acme, he thought.
He didn’t know whether to be glad or disappointed.
“Well, hey, not to fret.” Nola patted her hand. “It’s just another way of bringing home the bacon, right?”
“Yes…right.” Donna shrugged. “I admire you, Nola. You obviously want to live your life in a manner that suits you, and live it where it suits you—to hell with what others say.”
“Darn tootin.’” Nola gave her a thumbs-up.
“Is that why you have a boarder now—because money is tight?”
Fuck it, Jack thought. She’s seen me? How? Where?
Nola looked up. Involuntarily her eyes caught Jack’s in the mirror. “A...boarder? What do you mean, dear?”
“Oh, you don’t have to worry. I’m not going to tell anyone. It’s nobody’s business.” Donna took a sip of her wine, but her eyes never went off Nola. “Like you say, we all have to pay the bills.”
“Okay, yes…I do have someone staying with me—but just temporarily. A friend of a friend. He needed a place to stay.”
“It doesn’t matter! It’s really none of my business.” Donna leaned back. “Is he cute?”
“Who, Ja—I mean, Jason?” Nola shrugged. “He grows on you. I mean, it’s just platonic. Like you said, roomies. You’ve seen him, right? Is that how you knew he was there?”
“Not really, no. I see his shadow, sometimes, when he stands by the window. It’s as if he’s always there, like a hermit.” Donna looked down at her drink, which was almost empty. “Doesn’t that bother you?”
“Dirty dishes in the sink bother me. A raised toilet seat bothers me. Doing someone else’s laundry bothers the hell out of me—”
Jack frowned. How did this little girl’s night turn into an I Hate Jack gripe session? Okay, yeah, maybe I left the toilet seat up once or twice, but that other stuff—
It was then he realized they weren’t talking about Carl anymore.
Donna had turned the tables on Nola.
Jack laughed out loud.
He had half a mind to send them a drink with his compliments, but apparently he’d been beaten to the punch. Drinks had just been delivered. The waitress pointed over to a couple of guys—big strapping dudes in nice suits, sitting at the bar.
When the women looked up, the men waved.
Nola nodded slightly, but it wasn’t an invitation.
The men didn’t see it that way. They heaved themselves off their barstools and sauntered over.
Donna ignored them, but Nola looked and smiled. “Not now, boys. We’re having a little girl talk.”
The guys sat down anyway—one beside each of the women. The one closest to Nola—the slighter built of the two men, put his arm around her shoulder. “Quit being such a tease.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I’m not. Take the hint.”
“You’re too beautiful to be angry.”
“You’re too stupid to take a hint,” she growled at him. To make sure he got the message loud and clear, she poured her drink in his lap.
The man leaped up, cursing. “Fucking bitch!”
Nola and Donna jumped up, grabbing their purses. The other man grabbed Donna’s arm. “Just because your girlfriend is frigid doesn’t mean you have to be, too.” He yanked her down onto him. “Come sit on papa’s lap.”
She looked him directly in the eyes and leaned in.
Before he knew it, she had him cupped in her right hand. She tightened up on him, twisting so hard that he gasped. “Gentlemen, the night is still young,” Donna purred sweetly. “If you want to walk out of here upright—
for that matter, if you want leave the same gender as when you came into this bar, then I would suggest that we part ways amicably.” She gave him a hard twist as proof she meant business.
This time, when they rose to go, the men stayed put.
Jack waited until Donna’s bedroom light went out before slipping back into Nola’s house.
He wasn’t surprised to find Nola waiting up for him. Before he could say a word, she said, “Jack, I know how you feel about Donna joining Acme, but I’ve got to say, she more than held her own tonight! If he pushed his luck, I truly believe she would have taken him out—”
“Nola really—you don’t have to sell me. I was there. I saw it all.”
“No, you didn’t see her face, Jack! It was like…steel.” She winced. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think she was enjoying it.”
He didn’t say anything. What could he say?
Yes, he saw the look on her face.
It was the look of someone who had nothing to lose.
It was the look of a coldhearted killer.
He left a text for Ryan, telling him he’d be in the office by noon.
He packed his bag and went to bed.
For the first time in a while, he didn’t dream of Donna.
When he woke, he knew the Donna of his dreams didn’t really exist.
Chapter 17
MICE vs. RASCLS
Back in the day, when the CIA recruited its agents, assets and operatives, it looked for certain emotional criteria that could be summed up in the acronym, MICE—that is money, ideology, coercion, and ego.
The terms are self-explanatory. That said, persons of interest who are motivated by any of these factors would be ripe for the plucking and training as spies.
(The “c” and the “e” may also stand for compromise and extortion. As with most of the spy world, one must always leave room for flexibility, depending on the circumstances—even as it pertains to mnemonics.)
Staying in step with the times, today’s CIA has honed its wish list, now relying on these six influential factors, which go by the acronym RASCLS, and involve: reciprocation (extending a kindness because human nature is driven to pay it back, if not forward); authority (belief comes with respect to those who invite you to play, and in proving one’s self to them, and being rewarded with authority of your own); scarcity (“This is your chance, it’s now or never...”); commitment (to the cause, proven during an ongoing series of more important actions); liking (welcome to our exclusive little club!), and social proof (proving one’s commitment with public acts).
