“We tried to carry your mother out, but she…didn’t make it.”
“You said we tried to carry her mother out. Who else survived?” Clay asked.
“Two other members of our cell and your mother were still alive. Me and Barry Lee and Lion, who’d returned from bribing the border guards.”
“You’re leaving something out, aren’t you?” Melinda guessed.
“Barry Lee and I went ahead to scout the terrain. Lion stayed with your mother. When we returned, Lion was removing a handkerchief from your mother’s mouth. When I asked what he was doing, he said he was simply tidying up her body.”
“But?”
“I always suspected he smothered her.”
Melinda gasped. “You aren’t sure?”
“Lion had an impeccable reputation. He risked his own life to return and help us escape to freedom. But if I’d been sure he’d killed your mother, I’d have shot the SOB on the spot.”
Clay’s eyes narrowed. “Doesn’t Barry Lee cover the CIA for a southern newspaper? If I remember correctly, he won a Nobel Prize a few years back for—”
“Revealing corruption in the agency’s overseas operations.”
“What have you been doing since then?” Clay asked Herbert.
“A little of this, a little of that. I’ve spent thirty years hoping to prove my suspicions.”
“You think Lion betrayed the entire group?” Melinda asked.
“Yes. He wasn’t dead. He wasn’t tortured.”
“But you just said he has an impeccable reputation.”
“I’ve never had hard evidence. Before your mother died, she spoke of treason and betrayals, but she was delirious. Much of what she said made no sense. She talked about a picture she had of a spy handing over documents to a Russian. She spoke of her diary and a code. She said she suspected a double agent in our cell, maybe a pair of them. When I asked for names, she muttered instead about her husband and babies. I couldn’t accuse anyone with the limited information she gave me. I’d hoped her diaries might tell us the truth.”
Melinda and Clay exchanged a long glance. Finally Clay asked, “Did the man you called Lion use a code name?”
Herbert nodded. “As a matter of fact, he did. But what difference does it make?”
Clay demanded, his voice cold, yet excited, “Tell us the man’s code name.”
“Bull Dog.”
The same man her mother named as a traitor in her diary.
Melinda’s hopes rose. “Do you know his real identity?”
Chapter Thirteen
Herbert rubbed his white tuft of hair, his face grim. “Bull Dog was code-named for his round face and hanging jowls. Plus the fact that once he sank his teeth into something, he never let go. While he preferred the name Lion, Bull Dog stuck. His real name is Lionel Tower.”
Lionel Tower. His boss’s name rocked Clay back in his seat. “The CIA’s director of operations? Surely you don’t expect me to believe…”
But he did. The revelation explained so much. Right from the beginning of this mission, Clay had had doubts about why he’d been chosen to protect Melinda when the job was far outside his area of expertise. He’d bought Tower’s explanation only because of the man’s phenomenal reputation.
Tower’s men must have tailed him since the start. That’s how the two agents had tracked them to the bungalow, known they were coming after the tape in the message machine. Tower had warned them. The agents might have even thought they were on a legitimate mission—not even known they were being used as pawns to cover up their leader’s treachery.
No wonder Tower intended to keep the mission so secret. He didn’t want a team decoding the documents that he feared would name him as a traitor. For thirty years he’d worked his way up in the government, covering his tracks as only the powerful could do. But for thirty years, his dirty secrets had remained hidden. Now that Jake and Melinda had brought them back into the light, the siblings had the means to destroy a powerful man. But how?
“Who’s Lionel Tower?” Melinda asked.
Herbert let out a sigh. “The CIA’s director of operations. Only one of the most powerful men in the world.”
“If you’re trying to scare me, you’re doing a good job,” Melinda muttered, but she wasn’t giving up, and Clay admired her determination.
Herbert’s eyes gleamed like those of a hunter on the trail of cornered prey. “He’s a traitor, and now we have proof.”
The implications shot adrenaline straight into Clay’s veins. “Tower can marshal the resources of the entire free world against us.”
“Are you saying we can’t bring him down with the diary?” Melinda asked. “This man who betrayed my mother and those people can’t get away with it.”
“Can you imagine the damage he’s done to our country over three decades?” Herbert added. “Selling dirty secrets. I wouldn’t be surprised if his name is attached to some of the ugliest incidents in the agency’s history.”
“But what are we going to do about it?” Melinda asked.
“Your mother’s diaries name Bull Dog as a triple agent.” Clay spoke slowly, thinking through the facts. “What proof do we have that Bull Dog is Tower—besides Herbert’s word?”
Herbert sat back with a satisfied quirk on his lips.
“Barry Lee has documents. Files. He’s been researching for a long time. He has proof Bull Dog is Tower. What we needed was proof Tower was the traitor. The diaries will provide that final needed evidence to complete Barry’s exposé.”
“Hold on a sec.” Clay scratched his head. “You want to print this in—”
“A newspaper.” Herbert completed his thought for him. “We can’t go to anyone in the Justice Department without fear of a leak. A leak means some agency death squad will hunt us down, and we’ll disappear along with the documents.”
Melinda bit her bottom lip. “But—”
Clay cut Melinda off. “He’s right. Once the news splashes across the pages of a major paper, Tower will no longer be able to hide behind his powerful job. And he won’t dare touch us without incriminating himself further.”
Melinda shook her head. “What about my brother and sister? They have copies of the documents and will become targets.”
Herbert took her hand. “My dear, they’ve already become targets. Both are safe. Although their documents have been destroyed—one was dissolved by acid, another took a swim in the intracoastal waterway.”
“Melinda’s copy is the only one to survive?”
“I’m afraid so. We should make another copy and mail it to Barry,” Herbert suggested. “He’s the only one who knows the significance of our find and who has the wherewithal to print it.”
Melinda started the car. “What are we waiting for?”
As Melinda drove, Clay kept his gun in hand. While he believed Herbert’s story, the tale made him all the more cautious. He would prefer to drop Melinda off somewhere safe, then deliver the documents to the reporter himself. He didn’t quite believe that Tower had no idea where they were right now. It would have been too easy for the D.O. to have had an agent plant a bug on Clay’s gear, on Herbert, or on their vehicle.
And two minutes after they left Inky’s place, the forger had probably sold them out.
Even if the forger hadn’t gone straight to the CIA with their location, if Herbert had found them outside Inky’s, then Tower could, too. Clay pulled out his phone and dialed Lionel Tower’s direct line.
The D.O. answered on the first ring. “Yes.”
“We’re on the way.”
“Good. When can the extraction team meet you?”
“We need to come in our own way. I don’t trust your team,” Clay stalled. “We’ll come to you.”
“Where are you?”
“Two hours north of Atlanta,” he lied by sixty miles.
“Son, there’s no need for prevarication, this line is secure.”
“If you say so, sir.” The D.O. knew that he’d just lied about his locati
on. Did that mean the man could pinpoint his exact position? And if so how? “There’s been some complications.”
An edge of annoyance colored Tower’s tone. “His name is Herbert. He’s a double agent and a thorn in my side for far too long, but he’s expendable. Let me send a team to extract you.”
Clay played for time, wondering if Herbert had been tailed. “We can’t be sure of your team’s loyalty.”
“I’ll have a chopper pick you up.” The D.O. reeled off coordinates that would take them an hour to reach and hung up.
Damn. They didn’t have much time. When they didn’t show at the extraction point, all hell would break loose. Their first matter of business had to be copying and mailing the documents, but if Tower suspected they knew he was the traitor, the D.O. had the power to call a Code Ten to find them. With a Code Ten, Tower could claim that terrorists had sent bombs through the mail. He could close airports. Block the interstates. Bring out the National Guard. Run their pictures on television’s national news.
They couldn’t just run. They had to run smart. They had to outthink a man who had the power to call in local law enforcement’s help, or the military’s or the FBI’s. In addition, Tower had Clay’s description and photograph. He could use the national media to claim that Clay was a wanted man, and then even the average citizen could spot him on the street and turn him in.
What they really needed to do was hide—but hiding wouldn’t get the evidence to Barry Lee so he could splash the story across page one of Jacksonville’s prizewinning newspaper. One by one, Clay ran scenarios through his mind. One by one he discarded each idea until he settled on their best chance.
“We have to split up.”
“Good idea,” Herbert agreed.
Melinda didn’t look happy. “Why?”
“It’s too easy to spot us together.”
“But you don’t even know for sure whether Tower has any idea of our location.”
“If Herbert found us through Inky, then Tower can, too.”
Herbert shrugged. “I found Inky in the agency files. I had every forger east of the Mississippi and south of the Mason-Dixon Line being watched. Tower will check the airplane tickets, credit cards, car rentals and bus stations. Public transportation of any kind is out.”
Melinda put on her left-turn blinker. “There’s a copy shop up ahead. Should I stop?”
“Yes. But only use the self-service machines. Try not to let anyone see what you’re copying. And copy only the vital pages. You have five minutes. Three would be better.”
“All right then.” Melinda parked the car. From her tone, Clay could tell she was nervous. He tried to reassure her. “I’ll cover you from out here. Since the storefront is plate glass, I’ll have you in sight every minute.”
“I suppose I’ll be less conspicuous alone,” she muttered, gathered the documents and exited the car.
Clay slipped out of the back and motioned Herbert to come with him. As he watched Melinda, Clay spoke to Herbert. “Does anyone know you and Barry still talk?”
“Not unless my phone’s tapped, and I check it regularly. Why?”
“Going to Barry is impossible. He has to come to us—which shouldn’t be difficult if no one is watching him.”
“Good point.”
“But will he do it?”
Herbert removed some change from his pocket and headed to the pay phone outside the store. “One way to find out.”
Clay listened to Herbert make the call, his gaze on Melinda. She’d taken the news of her mother’s death hard but had recovered sufficiently to use the copy machine with efficient and crisp moves that reminded him of her hands on him when they’d made love. It seemed so long ago since they’d had that most personal of connections, yet the memory lingered in his mind, coming back to him at the most inappropriate times.
While he longed for a successful conclusion to this mission, he also dreaded it because he knew they would then go their separate ways. During the short time they’d known one another, he’d come to admire her spunk, her adaptability and her heart.
Which made putting her in danger all the harder. Running from the D.O. wasn’t the smartest action they could take. Giving the director of operations the documents and asking him to forget his and Melinda’s existence would be safer. It would also be treason. He wouldn’t consider betraying his country—not even for Melinda.
“Fire in the hole.” Herbert’s words broke into Clay’s thoughts. Herbert spoke softly into the receiver, giving his old friend the code words that meant he finally had the proof the reporter required to run the story.
Herbert then motioned Clay to the phone. He spoke quickly, knowing that any call from the entire city of Atlanta might be traced if Tower nailed down their location.
“You’ll have to come to me,” he told the reporter.
“Where?”
“I’ll let you know. Start driving north. Give me your cell-phone number.” Clay memorized the ten digits automatically. He’d have to risk another thirty-second transmission burst later from a pay phone to set up the meet.
Herbert wiped the phone clean of Clay’s prints just as Melinda walked out of the copy shop. She handed Herbert a bag. “This is the critical stuff.”
“I’m—”
Clay held up his hand to stop the man from speaking. “Don’t tell us where you’re going.”
“I understand. I’ll try and lay a false trail before I disappear. Maybe it will buy us all some time. Good luck, my friends.” Herbert waved a short goodbye and walked away from them, merging into the shadows.
“You think we’ll ever see him again?” Melinda asked almost wistfully.
If he lives. Clay didn’t speak the morbid thought out loud. Instead, he ushered her back to the car. “He’s survived by his wits and at the heart of his enemy for three decades. I’m betting he’ll make it.”
“I’LL DRIVE.” Clay took the car keys from her, consulted his Palm Pilot and sped into traffic.
“Are we in a rush?”
“We need to go to ground.”
“Where?”
“The best place to hide is often an obvious place, but somewhere Tower’s operatives won’t think to look.”
Melinda fastened her seat belt and tugged the strap tight, her stomach lurching as Clay took a fast corner. She hoped Clay didn’t intend to park the car in the woods for the next four hours. “You have somewhere in mind? Like a hotel with clean sheets and hot running water?”
Clay shook his head. “That’s too obvious. What about a hunting lodge?”
“Sounds fine to me.”
Thirty minutes later, Clay checked them in to a single room at the Southern Gentleman’s Hunt Plantation. The reception area reminded her of a ski lodge with its log walls and huge fireplace. A few guests shot pool and one read a newspaper. A large television set in the corner blared but no one paid attention to it.
Clay checked them into a room on the ground floor. While their accommodations weren’t luxurious, Clay seemed pleased with the back door that led to a terrace and a star-studded sky. She pulled back the spread and bounced onto the bed. “Now what?”
“We wait for Barry Lee to drive north.”
She was way too nervous to eat or nap. She wanted to pace. Instead, she bounced the mattress a little more.
“That’s not a trampoline.”
“Really? I thought I’d try a triple back flip.”
He sat beside her and pulled her into his arms. “I’ve a better idea.”
She slanted him a look that had to reveal how much she wanted him. “Yeah?”
“Kiss me.”
“I’ve been wanting to do just that all day,” she admitted as she wrapped her arms around his neck. She knew their time together was short, knew these might be the last private hours they might share. She wanted to make them memorable.
He kissed her upper lip. “You know, once this is over, I’m going to miss you.”
She murmured into his neck. “Glad to hear i
t.”
“You want me to be miserable?” he asked.
“I want you to want me.”
“Why?”
“So you’ll know exactly how I’ll feel.”
He ran a hand over her hip and lightly tickled her rib. “So misery loves company?”
“No. Melinda loves Clay.”
At her simple yet bold declaration, he pulled back and looked into her eyes. She would have given all her savings to know his thoughts, but he kept them shuttered and closed her out while she felt as if she’d just leaped out of a plane without a parachute.
“How do you know it’s love?” he asked.
“Because nothing else would feel so good yet hurt so much.” She spoke from the heart, her feelings out there for him to trample.
He pulled her close, held her tenderly. “I don’t want to lose you, either.”
That wasn’t exactly I love you. And from a man who knew more than a dozen languages, she found his word choice sadly lacking.
She’d expected no more, yet the fear of losing him warred with an empty hollow ball inside her that ached more than she could have imagined. He liked her. Yes. He found her attractive. Yes. And maybe with proper attention, his feelings could bloom into something more.
She hesitated, then went for broke. “You know I could set up a shop in Virginia.”
His expression didn’t change. His eyes remained hard, his mouth in a tight grim line. “I don’t want you to give up your future for me.”
He might as well have slapped her. Pain burned through her like acid. He didn’t want her.
He didn’t want her.
He didn’t want her.
Jerking back from his embrace, she stood and paced, refused to reveal the tears that burned her eyes and threatened to escape.
CLAY HADN’T EXPECTED Melinda to offer to give up her dreams of setting up her business in Florida and move to be near him. Although touched by her offer, he knew better than to allow another woman to waste time on him. It wasn’t fair to ask her to sacrifice her family and friends when he couldn’t spend the time with her that was needed to keep them close.
Lovers in Hiding Page 17
