by Darrell Bain
A light blinked on his console, almost buried among the assorted icons. A fighter pilot might have envied the electronic display, were it in an aircraft. NSA never scrimped on gadgets and electronics. “Mister Mullins is here,” his assistant announced.
“Send him in, and shut off any recordings.”
Corey Mullins was a chubby, balding man with dead-looking eyes that would have gone well in a funeral home. He also possessed not one iota of humor in his personality.
Before Mullins sat down, he took a gadget from his coat pocket and waved it around the room despite Crafton's assertion that his office was clean. It was swept twice a day.
“All right, what do you have for me?” Mullins asked, lips barely moving.
“There's a chance we've got a leaker in the building. I need security checks ran again on Daniel Stenning, Shirley Rostervik and anyone in this office who has been in contact with them from two weeks ago up until yesterday. Also, I want all of their histories and personalities compared to this profile.” He handed Mullins a list of the known aberrations attributed to the inhabitants of Masterville Valley.
Mullins glanced at the list without curiosity and nodded assent. “That all?”
“Isn't that enough?”
The IA officer didn't answer directly. “I'll get back to you.”
“Make it quick. I may have a team in jeopardy. Or a ringer.”
“How about the others?”
“No, they had a different briefing officer. Start with them, then if nothing turns up I'll give you the other names.”
Mullins departed without answering that comment, either, since it was “need-to-know” information, but Crafton knew he would do a thorough job. He always did. Once Mullins was gone, he began worrying about Phillips’ reaction should a mole or rouge agent be discovered working for him. How would it affect his chances for moving up another notch? Would catching a mole hurt or help him? He spent the next half hour turning the questions over in his mind without reaching any useful conclusions, except that he would accept Phillips’ invitation to attend church services the next time he asked. Crafton wasn't particularly religious, but he knew that pretending to be could only help him, not hurt, so long as Phillips and Bobby Lee were in office.
* * * *
The menu at Roy's High Noon Cafe was limited but very good. Daniel's porterhouse steak was cooked to perfection and the fries were just the way he liked them, not hard but not limp and grease-soaked, either. After eating, they drove back through the downtown section, looking for likely shops and businesses to explore.
“This place looks like something from out of the fifties or sixties I've seen pictures of,” Daniel remarked. “No big malls, no chain stores, lots of people on the streets-and the streets are clean.”
“I'll agree; it does look like a place from out of the past. If it were designed that way to attract tourists, I could understand it, but it's not. Notice how few vehicles have out of state license plates?”
“Yeah, I caught that. Let's go a couple of streets over on each side of the main drag and see what gives.”
Daniel turned at the first main cross street, drove two blocks and turned back the way they had come. On the left side of the street small shops predominated, interspersed here and there by what appeared to be residences. On the other side, a park opened up. From what they could see, it appeared to be in use by a fair number of people, but not that many vehicles were in the parking areas. Had the strollers walked from their homes? He spotted a barber shop, sporting the age-old striped pole. A few spots down was a bar and grill, Tiffany's Mistake. He pointed it out to Shirley.
“I like that name. In fact, in the morning you can drop me along here. I need a haircut anyway and a bar is always a good place to pick up on what the locals are talking about. The park looks interesting, too. I think I'll spend some time in it.”
“Good plan. I'll get my hair done, too, if I can get an appointment, then do some shopping along the main drag. Pick out a place to meet, say about mid-afternoon.”
Daniel was driving slowly, then spotted just what he wanted; a used bookstore. He pointed. “There. Pageturner's Bookstore. By golly, if nothing else, these people are innovative when it comes to naming their establishments.”
“That they are. Ready to head back?”
“Yup. I'm looking forward to the news and sleeping in that old bed. It sure did feel comfortable.”
Shirley wondered if Daniel was thinking that they would be sleeping together in the bed. From the dreamy look on his face, it was more likely his red headed friend he was thinking of. She couldn't know for sure, but she was exactly right. Daniel's thoughts had already turned back to the B&B and Lisa and how he could engage her in a conversation away from Shirley's scrutiny. He thought of one way that might work, but it would depend entirely on how interested Lisa was in him and whether the opportunity to set it up might arise before bedtime.
* * * *
Marybeth's eyes blinked open from where she had dozed off after she and Lisa had completed their tryst. She remembered how hard it had been to keep their voices down and wondered whether it really mattered or not. Probably the agents didn't care a whit about what they did in their bedrooms. No, she would bet that one of them, at least, cared: Daniel Stenning. Suddenly realizing she was in bed by herself she sat up and looked around.
Lisa was standing in the window seat, already dressed, and had the curtains pulled back. Marybeth could see her in profile, a pensive expression on her face as she stared out past the well-kept yard into the street.
“What's interesting, Lisa?”
“I just saw them leave. I wonder if they heard us?”
“I doubt it, but even if they did, it would have been hard to tell what we were doing. Shucks, we could have been moving furniture for all they know.”
Lisa turned, and elfish smile crossing her face. “I think we did move the bed. Or maybe that was just the earth moving.”
Marybeth broke into laughter. She patted the edge of the bed and Lisa walked over and sat down, not quite able to meet Marybeth's gaze. Marybeth patted her thigh. “Are you worried about what Mr. Stenning would think if he knew we had a relationship?”
“I don't know. I don't know what I feel about him. Damn it, we just met for a few minutes!”
“Well, we got them to come here for a purpose. Why don't we try to separate the two of them and let you meet your boyfriend by yourself?”
“He's not my boyfriend!”
“Hah. You two were looking at each other like moonstruck calves. Tell you what, if they spend any time in the parlor this evening, I'll just ask casually what their plans are. If either of them says anything that indicates an opportunity where you could see him alone, do you want to?”
“Yes,” Lisa said quickly, then blushed.
“Fine. Just remember who he works for. Now how ‘bout you running down and starting some snacks while I get dressed?”
“I thought we were just a breakfast place.”
“We are, but why not put on the dog? It might loosen them up. I'll run out for some wine and other ethanolic goodies while you're concocting. Deal?”
“Deal.”
“Good. Kiss?”
Lisa complied, unable to keep her hands from straying to Marybeth's still bare breasts as she did. A moment later she hurried down the stairs, wondering what Daniel might like for snack food.
CHAPTER TEN
As Daniel and Shirley came through the unlocked side door, he remarked, “They don't seem overly concerned about burglars or breaking and entering, do they?”
“How so?”
“There's not even a lock on this door, other than the doorknob latch. A professional could be inside in two seconds flat.”
Shirley was about to comment when she heard Lisa, the red headed female of the two, call out and wave to them from the parlor entrance.
“Hi! We're going to have some snacks this evening about six or so, if you'd like to join us.”
&n
bsp; Shirley hesitated, but Daniel jumped on it. “Sure, we'd be glad to. That's nice of you.”
“No problem. We want to make sure you enjoy your stay. Maybe you'll say good things about us to your friends and they'll want to stay here, too.”
Daniel gave her a casual wave and they went on to their room. Shirley immediately pulled out their shared electronic sweeper and moved around the room. “Nothing here but ours. And I'll just bet they want our friends to visit.”
“Why not give them the benefit of the doubt unless we know? After all, there are two other motels run by locals, and they said they're just starting out. An evening snack for a Bed & Breakfast is good advertising.”
“You're too trusting, Daniel.”
“Maybe. I'd rather be trusting than paranoid, though. Don't worry; I've never let anyone scam me while I was on an Op yet.”
That was true enough, Shirley remembered. Daniel had an uncanny reputation for catching on to people's motives and reservations quickly. If it weren't for Crafton not liking him, she knew that he would already have advanced to a supervisory position. It didn't appear to bother him, though. He also had a reputation for carrying out Ops just as he was ordered to, though which ones he had been on would never be made available to anyone else, just as hers wouldn't.
Daniel hung his jacket up and removed the little automatic from the side pocket. He held it a moment in his hand, thought about leaving it in the room, then shoved it into the holster at the small of his back and changed shirts to get one he could wear stylishly outside and cover the evidence. He doubted seriously that either of the women was dangerous to them, but he had been well and truly trained; he always went armed in the field, no matter what.
Shirley flicked on the television monitor, hung like a picture across the room from twin lounge chairs. It was five thirty, just in time for national news.
Daniel sat down and leaned the backrest into the reclining position while he watched. The lead story was about a Catholic Archbishop pleading for world peace even as he insinuated that Christianity was the only true religion. He tuned the words out, having heard them all his life, to no effect that he could see. The President was on briefly, promising to step up efforts to stem illegal immigration, then making an announcement that he intended to ask congress to give the military more leeway to intervene domestically when public welfare and suburban peacefulness were threatened. The anchor commented that congress would probably be receptive to the idea.
Daniel's mouth tightened with disapproval. Robert E. Smith had been elected President on his campaign promises to step up activities against terrorists, combat the still rising influence of radical Islamic Theology and bring Christian values back into government. He had succeeded in the latter all too well, Daniel thought. The nation was moving ever closer to becoming a theocratic state in being, if not in name. The more the Moslem fanatics railed against the rest of the world for controlling so much of the wealth and technology, the more smug and self-righteous the Christian religions became, like positive feedback running out of control.
Another story followed; an odd one for national broadcasting. It amounted to blatant propaganda, comparing a peaceful, law-abiding and religiously churchgoing little city's crime rate with that of another where drugs, violence and poorly performing schools were blamed on a dearth of churches in the community.
That one even brought a comment from Shirley, who usually kept her own counsel about the rightward shift taking place in the nation's politics.
“I'd bet my pension that Bobby Lee is behind that one. He's going to go too far one time and it will backfire on him.”
Daniel raised his eyebrows at her. “You don't like religion?”
“I didn't say that. I'm religious; I just don't particularly care for it to be shouted from the rooftops by a stand-in. If the President wants to preach at us, he should have the guts to do it himself.”
“He does.”
“Not overtly. So far, anyway. Well, we elected him; we're stuck with him until next time, at least. These things run in cycles. Not too many years ago, we thought the government was too liberal. This is just a reaction. Give it a few more years and it will swing back the other way.”
Daniel wasn't so sure, but he declined to comment. Presently he glanced at his watch. “Well, shall we go see what kind of snacks our hostesses have laid out for us?”
“May as well.”
* * * *
Even though he had eaten in mid-afternoon, Daniel found his mouth watering at the smells of cheese, crackers, summer sausage and a shrimp dip. Lisa and Marybeth both got up from the chairs they had been sitting in and smiled a welcome.
“Come on in,” Marybeth said. “We were just getting ready to start. And don't be bashful; there's plenty. There's wine, or coffee or tea, whichever you like.”
“My, how can you make a profit feeding us like this?” Shirley said, nevertheless beginning to fill her plate.
“We couldn't, if we did it every day, but since y'all are staying a week, we though we'd make your first evening enjoyable. Besides, we usually snack in the evening rather than cook.”
“Good idea. I should try that instead of eating big meals at night then having to diet.” Shirley's figure belied that comment, and in fact, there was no truth to it. “May I try the wine?”
“Certainly. That's what it's here for. You, too, Mr. Stenning.”
“Daniel. I hate formality.” That was the truth. He got up to pour for them all and was amazed to see a tremor in his hand as he filled Lisa's glass.
“Thank you,” Lisa told him, smiling, though Daniel wasn't looking at her face. He noticed that her hand that was holding the wine glass was shaking slightly, just as his was.
“Sure.” He could think of no other conversational gambit.
“Come on and sit down,” Lisa urged, wanting to find a chair for herself. She felt a distinct weakness in her knees, as if the joints there had suddenly lost all the calcium from the bones.
Daniel found the cheese, and a type of cracker he wasn't familiar with, were both delicious. He said so.
“The crackers are from the local bakery. Lots of people here prefer them over Ritz or Saltines or the like.”
“I can see why.” Damn, was everything here made locally? Daniel made a note to wander into a couple of grocery stores, or a supermarket if he could find one, sometime in the next day or two.
“Where did you eat today?” Marybeth asked, wanting to get the conversation started in another direction.
“Roy's High Noon Cafe. It was very good.”
“I can suggest a few more places, if you like.”
Shirley answered. “Well, actually, we want to sort of wander around and get a feel for the city. We're going to be doing a story about folklore associated with some cities of less than 50,000 population later this year. It's for an on-line travel magazine called Storied Stops. Have you heard of it?” She knew they wouldn't have, since Terrell had just beginning to put together a web site for the magazine to help complete their cover when they left Washington.
“Um, no I guess not, but then neither of us has traveled that much. Is there anything in particular we could help you with?”
“Well, possibly. Daniel wants to get a haircut. He spotted a barber shop while we were out today, but I could use a recommendation for a trim and shampoo.”
“Why don't you try Martha's place? It's the one Lisa and I both use.”
“Fine. What's the name of the place?”
Marybeth's laugh was like the tinkling of a piano. "Martha's Place is its name. It's on the street running parallel to the park, on the west side of Main Street.
“Is that the park I saw across from-what was it?-The CandyCane Barber shop?”
“That's the place,” Lisa interjected. “The park is called Spring Rock Park; don't ask me why. It's not an official name; it's just what we call it.”
“Maybe the librarian would know. You do have a library here, don't you?” Shirley said.
/> “Oh yes, it's on Secondary Street, three blocks from Main and parallel to it, most of the way back to the edge of town toward the pass.”
Shirley had to ask. “Secondary Street, you said? And three blocks over?”
“Some of our ancestors had a quirky sense of humor. You'll notice things like that all over town.”
“It sounds as if we may have found another good candidate for the article, doesn't it, sweetheart?” Shirley said, noticing that Daniel wasn't saying much and was constantly glancing in Lisa's direction.
“Oh. Sure does. Is there a place in the park that gives any kind of history? If there is, I may take a look after my haircut.”
Lisa answered quickly. “There's a little renovated log cabin right in the center of the park, by the pond. It doesn't have much there, but there are some notes in a binder you might look through.”
“I'll do that,” Daniel said, tilting his wine glass to empty it and trying to prevent anyone from seeing how pleased he was at getting a meeting set up with Lisa-if indeed he had. Well, he had opened the door as wide as he could; now it was up to her to come in if she wanted to.
* * * *
Crafton was working late. His assistant was already gone when he heard a knock on the door of his office. Before he could react, Corey Mullins barged in. He walked over to his desk and dropped a folder on it. “Here's your data. Notice the designation. It's for your eyes only. Use the shredder when you're finished, and if you have to talk to Mister Phillips about it, have the facts memorized. I'll leave a man here to observe the disposal. Call him in when you're ready.”
With that, Mullins departed, his part in the drama completed, but Crafton stayed very late.
At last he decided that he had no choice; he would have to inform the director, no matter what time it was. Daniel Stenning's profile matched the oddities found in the people of Masterville Valley in every case where they could be verified. That wasn't necessarily proof that he was one of them, but there was far too much of a match to put any further trust in him, especially now that the first salvo against the valley had been broadcast, even if it hadn't mentioned the place by name. Even worse, it appeared as if Mark Terrell, one of his best men, one who had been rapidly promoted into his present position, might possibly be part of whatever the hell was going on in that blasted valley. He would have to report that, too. He wished he could simply take care of the business himself, but Phillips would feed him through his own shredder if he tried anything like that. Reluctantly, he picked up the encryption phone and dialed the Director's number.
