Once he dropped the brusquely aggressive stance of the FBI agent, his face transformed, becoming more attractive as his expression softened. She liked the way he dressed. His suit had been freshly pressed -- navy pinstripe, almost black. His shirt was starched, white, thick and crisp, worn with large gold signet cufflinks and an elegant silk tie. His black tassel loafers were well worn, yet in perfect condition. She liked a man who took care of his wardrobe and of himself.
Ivy adored the way his smile varied from a slight twinge with his lips curling up to a generous toothy grin. Brian had mentioned that one of Steve's nicknames in the Bureau was "the Boy Scout" and Ivy wondered if it was his grin or his ideals or the combination of the two that gave him that epithet. The subtle smile seemed to come from his heart; the grin straight from his boyhood. Ivy found it refreshing that he still had that grin.
Her mind lingered on their conversations, thinking about his praise of Mathew who he considered his most talented agent, even better than himself which he said with a hint of pride. He talked about Mathew's innate goodness. In talking of Mathew, Steve revealed so much of himself and what he valued -- commitment to justice, devotion to his country, intelligence coupled with common sense. The federal agent was there in his movements, in the eyes that never stopped watching his surroundings except when he gazed at her. How sweet he had been to ask if he could kiss her. Of course, he could be the cleverest actor she had come across. That thought scared Ivy and made her feel vulnerable.
Two days and no word from Steve. Although he indicated there might be days and weeks when he would be out of touch, Ivy hoped she would hear from him. When her office phone rang, Ivy picked it up and answered with her usual business tone, professional yet accessible. "Ivy Littleton."
A little thrill went through her when she heard, “Ivy, Steve.”
"Steve! I was wondering if you would find time to call."
"Can you talk now?"
"Give me a moment." Ivy rushed to have her assistant push the upcoming 4:00 meeting to the next day and closed her office door.
"Hi, Big Guy. What has your week been like?" The deep yet soft sound of his voice flowed seductively from her ear down through her body. She squirmed a little in her chair as the warmth in his tones seeped into her. She found herself caressing the navy sleeve of her cashmere blazer, as if she were being touched by Steve.
"I work on a theory that there is little sense in chopping off the pieces of a big operation, because, like the mythical hydra, the tentacles are quickly regenerated, whereas if you capture or kill the brains the whole thing implodes. Not everyone at the Bureau agrees with me, including my boss. He wants to tout victories by count, not by impact."
"Your approach makes sense."
"How are your dogs?"
"They are the cutest little bundles. When I open the door at home and see those happy faces waiting for me, it makes even the worst days better. The cat does his bit too. You like pets?”
"Like them yes. Never home to have one."
"Where is home, by the way?"
"Not sure any more. I keep a condo in D.C., even though I'm only there a few days a month."
"Where was home, then?"
"Eastern shore of Maryland. My Dad was a small town lawyer."
That explained that slight drawl that comes into his voice when he relaxes. "And your Mother?"
"Mom ran an import business for Nordic crafts out of our basement -- sold them to specialty shops in areas of the country with significant Norwegian populations. It let her be home for me and my Dad. They emigrated from Norway right after World War II seeking a warmer climate."
The call lasted almost an hour, with each of them conversing as easily as the previous weekend, sometimes seriously, sometimes bantering. They talked about Portland, about their lives and about technology. After Ivy hung up and opened her office door again, a couple of her staff stood there waiting to give her updates on their projects. Ivy left at six, wanting to be at home where she could savor the glow of talking with Steve.
He told her to expect only an occasional call or email over the next weeks, as his cases demanded his full attention. He did end the call by reminding her about their planned Thanksgiving weekend. If he was a player then he was delicate about it for she sensed no falseness. From years of managing people, her senses were attuned to listening and watching for signs of duplicity. With Steve, she sensed only that he was a good, straightforward man. She remained worried that his forceful life as an agent could spill over into personal relationships. Sooner or later, she needed to voice that worry to him and see how he reacted.
Ivy's life changed from meeting Steve. Now she felt more alive and aware of the world around her. Talking to him filled her with glistening hope. She smiled to herself, silently thanking him for giving her color back. She saw it again now in the trees as they headed towards fall. She appreciated the warm gold and rust-colored flowers at the garden center. She noticed the late pink roses along her driveway waking up to the morning sun, with translucent dew drops caught at the tips of leaves. Moreover she realized that she wanted to laugh more and run with her dogs playing hide and seek with them in the yard. If nothing else came from having met Steve, Ivy would be sorry but also thankful. He let her remember what it was to feel the warmth of a good man. More than that, he had awoken a delightfully sensuous part of her that perhaps had always been dormant, something deep within her. Even so, did she have enough left of herself to offer him? Would he quickly find her to be worn out?
***
A few days later, Ivy was pleasantly surprised to find an email from Steve in her personal inbox. She chided herself for her silliness when seeing his name made her gasp with surprise and delight. He had sent it via a secure service that required her to create a login before the message would be decrypted and available to her. His use of secure email for a personal communication added to the intrigue of the man who was Steve Nielsen.
Secure Email from Steve Nielsen, October 26, 2012
Dear Ivy
When you walked into your offices a few weeks ago, the first thing I noticed was your assurance. You have a regal quality about you, exuding strength and independence, and yet you seem to have a wonderful lack of awareness of how captivating you are. Seeing you again Friday night, it was as if a light came on in that restaurant. Even after being away from you for a few days, I found that light stayed with me. I realized the glow was coming from inside of me; it needed the right spark to brighten. This may sound a bit crazy at my age -- I am smitten with you. Your outfit Friday night was striking, with your filmy blue blouse that dipped alluringly low in the front. When you smiled as you saw me, I knew flying up to Portland was the right decision.
Until that trip to your company a couple of weeks ago, I had never been to your City of Roses. I spent some weeks in Seattle a few years ago, working on a jewel smuggling case. Mt. Rainier and the Olympic Mountains struck me with their majestic presence. I thought then that I wanted to return some day and hike out into that wilderness. That was before I saw Mt. Hood's graceful crenellated peak that is like a jutting inselberg out of a Tolkien book. What was it called? The Lonely Mountain? Seattle now plays a distant second to Portland. You have something to do with that.
To be honest, I have never been great at interpersonal relationships, but with you the words flowed like a river between us. Each sentence was laden with meaning, telling each other who we are. Like you, I hadn’t dated in years, not once I came out of a long, horrid dead phase in my life. My monk's life allowed me to find my values again. I found ways to chase away the emptiness inside of me, if only through work. Nevertheless of late, with me about the oldest field executive/agent around, I could see the door to retirement. That is a door I fear opening. Beyond it I have only been able to see a void.
I mentioned that for a time I worked in D.C. at the Bureau's headquarters in a very prestigious position that I wanted my whole career and once there I found I missed solving nasty problems and nailing the per
ps. Working at HQ where I had to use my influence was not my strong point. After about 18 months at HQ, I engineered myself back into fieldwork in a role I defined, heading up an elite squad, or team as I prefer to call it, to handle cases where the perps are located typically in Europe or Latin America.
Originally the FBI focused on domestic issues. However as the world has changed, most of our big cases have international roots or tentacles. The Bureau set up a growing number of Legal Attaché offices around the world to work with the local authorities to help solve cases. When on foreign soil, we act in conjunction with in-country forces under terms arranged by our legats, as we call them.
Tomorrow we are flying to Bern for the final planning to apprehend the leader of this child trafficking operation, save the innocent children held captive, and destroy the network. We will stick with this goal, no matter how long it takes. All my time and concentration will go into this operation. Keep me in your thoughts and be confident that I will return to Portland to see you as soon as I can – with any luck Thanksgiving weekend. You may see an email from me before then or I will call when this operation is over.
(Hopefully) Your Favorite Big Guy,
Steve
Ivy read and reread the email, feeling even more impressed by Steve and the man he was. FBI High Bureau Official, or HBO, was what Brian had called him. She contemplated the dark October sky, seeing the lights across the valley and up on the hills to the south. She turned back to her screen, did a couple of searches and found that the FBI employs over 35,000 people. To be an FBI HBO was an impressive achievement.
Steve seemed to dwarf her. His work made hers, even as the head of an important business unit, feel less significant. With work soon to be in her past, Ivy needed a new definition for herself to stand up to her own expectations and to the scrutiny of a man like Steve. Yet he was a bit one-dimensional or at least that was what he conveyed. Maybe she could help him round out and fill that void that he fears will be retirement. She had similar concerns about herself. If things progressed between them, perhaps together they could define a life after their career years were behind them. She shook her head at herself and pulled her thoughts back. She was way ahead of herself. That night Ivy composed an email back to Steve, but before she hit the "Send" button, Ivy told herself to keep her desires under control. Given her work commitments and pressures, having a long distance relationship that would have to develop in fits and starts might not be so bad.
Chapter 5
Around nine that same evening, Steve and Mathew arrived in Washington by train from New York, using the trip to go over their findings and plans on the child trafficking case. The next day, Steve had an obligatory breakfast meeting scheduled with his boss to update him on his assigned cases. He had no respect for his current boss, thinking him a Bureau HQ lightweight who had never done fieldwork. However he would go through the motions of meeting with him. Steve considered his real boss to be the Director of the Bureau and he talked with him every week or so. Right after the breakfast meeting, Steve along with Mathew, Brian and four other team members, would fly to Bern to prepare for the move against the suspected head of the child trafficking operation, identified as located in Sofia. He liked to work closer to the perps once they narrowed in on a location.
After jumping on the Metro Red Line to Dupont Circle, Steve and Mathew dropped their bags at their condos and hustled out for a late dinner at the Italian place they frequented a few blocks away. Walking back, Steve recalled that night when he thought they might have been tailed and kept a discrete watch in case one appeared again. At one point, Mathew peered quickly over his left shoulder.
"You've seen it too?" Steve asked.
"The tail? Yeah. Thought I saw something the last time we were here."
"You never said."
"Wasn't sure."
"Let's split up. You turn left. I'll go right and then one of us will circle behind the other, depending on what the tail does. Maybe we can trap him between us."
Mathew nodded. At the corner they parted. Steve walked for a block and glanced back. A man in black was creeping along behind him on the opposite side of the street. Steve pulled his gun from the shoulder holster, keeping it under his jacket. He slowed his pace, waiting for the tail to make a move. He risked a glance over his other shoulder. Mathew had turned back and was coming up behind the tail. Suddenly the man bolted straight ahead, ran to the corner, turned left and fled, moving with the speed of a sprinter doing a 400 yard dash. Steve and Mathew each took off running.
Up ahead the man in black turned left on 18th Street heading towards Dupont Circle. Steve wanted to catch this shadow and learn who sent him. The man glanced back, saw him and kept running. Steve yelled for him to stop. The man split left on P Street. Steve pushed himself harder only to see the man dash into the Metro Station. Steve raced down the stairs just in time to see the man in black boarding a train as it left the station. Mathew puffed up behind him.
"Missed him?"
"Yeah."
"No doubt we are being tailed, though."
"Ever see anything in New York?"
Mathew shook his head. "How did he know we were back?"
"Same restaurant. Maybe a waiter or somebody gets paid to tip him off."
"Let's go back."
"They were closing when we left."
“Who do you think it was?"
"Maybe from that drug lord we tried to hit in Mexico." They were walking again back to their condos.
"You been followed before?"
"Not that I'm aware of, except that one time. Let's do a bug sweep of our condos and check our electronic gear for tracking software."
"Usual procedure? I check my place and my gear; you check yours?"
"And then we switch and repeat."
***
In Bern, the team was reviewing suspect email traffic in and out of Sofia and laying out scenarios for how the arrest operation might happen. Bern was close enough for monitoring and to jet in to the target city when needed, yet distant enough to escape detection. Steve had a one-bedroom suite, using the living room for meetings, as well as for their computers and surveillance gear. Early the second Tuesday, Mathew was reading decoded texts and emails to and from the perps in the surveillance area. Another agent named Trina was working on her scenarios. The plan was for her to lead a meeting with the perps. She seemed to be on a mission with this case and was very intent on having every detail right.
"Check this out, Big Guy," said Mathew. He had taken to using that soubriquet since he heard Ivy call Steve by that name during their brief meeting at the airport.
"Twenty Snežanas and six Zvezdans are ready for new homes. The orphanage is full."
Trina crowded over next to Mathew. "Snežanas are Snow Whites or Virgin Girls and Zvezdans are Stars or Innocent Boys," she echoed annoyingly, as if Steve could forget the perps’ sick code words.
"If their orphanage is full, then we need to go in now with our proposal for a new network child porn centers in smaller Midwestern cities," Trina continued.
"Tell us something we don't know," Steve said, lacing his comment heavily with sarcasm. Sometimes Trina could be a blunt instrument on the communications side. She seemed to think with her mouth. It could make her risky in the field. That was one of the differences between her and Mathew. He never stated the obvious.
That morning they worked at role-playing with Steve taking the part of leader of the perps, a woman referred to as Matka in the emails the agents decoded. It meant "Mother" in the Slavic language used by a broad range of peoples across multiple countries in Eastern Europe. Mathew took on the role of the man they suspected to be Matka’s next in command, a henchman they dubbed Dragomir, which is a Slavic name composed of the elements dorogo meaning precious and mir meaning peace, making the combination literally mean "precious peace”. They liked the irony of the meaning, but mostly they liked the dull, threatening sound of "Dragomir" when they said it.
Trina was playing her ro
le as the lead on their team and Brian was acting as the main negotiator. Brian was stalwart, never making a misstatement and never showing that he had been caught off-guard. His performance made Steve proud. While Trina had been flawless, by the end of the morning she was beginning to glow with nervous perspiration. Steve continued to play Matka as the sophisticated executive, who might be selling fine Slavic art, collectible heirlooms, or gold threaded fabrics for plush interior designs. Instead, the perp was selling kids. He made a lousy Matka, but he could do the conversation.
"Now that we have talked, perhaps you would like to see a sample of the goods.” He nodded at Mathew and smiled in the cold way he had learned early in his career.
Brian and Trina were not privy to the next scenario. He wanted to see what they would do. Mathew escorted what appeared to be two teenagers into the room. One was a female prostitute, younger in appearance than she was, flat chested and with short-cropped hair. She portrayed a certain waif-like innocence. The second prostitute was a boyish young man with blond hair cut close at the sides but left long on top so that it tumbled down over his forehead. It irked Steve to test the two agents this way, but it could happen and he had to see their reactions.
He had made sure the two hired prostitutes were not underage by American standards and he interviewed them to be sure they were not coerced into their work. Both were students at the local university who were earning their tuition money with their bodies. The young woman had it all lined out -- how she would graduate in a year without having to take on student loans or government obligations. While it bothered Steve, he had heard worse. It was offensive to him to line them up, but this test could become real. The agents might be expected to try out "the goods" to check their veracity as buyers. The agents did not have to take that test now or during the sting. All he wanted was to see their reactions.
Old Growth & Ivy (The Spook Hills Trilogy Book 1) Page 6
