Conard County Spy

by Rachel Lee

  “You’ve got to find out more.” Suddenly dropping to her knees beside him, she looked up at him. “Trace... Marisa. Ryker. Whatever it takes. Please.”

  He grew so still he might have turned to stone. Then, as if recovering his ability to move, he cupped her head with his hand and pulled it to his side. She could hear his heart beating, and it amazed her it wasn’t hammering as fast as hers.

  “I’ll protect them,” he said, his voice like steel. “I’m the one this hunter wants. There’s no reason for him to take out anyone but me. He’d only get a bigger mess.”

  She hated to hear him say that even if it was true. He sounded like a man who was willing to go to the guillotine rather than let anyone else get hurt.

  But she didn’t want him thinking that way. That was dangerous. “You’ve got to save yourself, too,” she begged. “Please, Trace. Don’t just give yourself up to this madman.”

  The steel remained in his voice. “I may have been sidelined, but I am not inoperative.”

  * * *

  The clerk and the older man, who identified himself only as Bill and didn’t ask the younger man’s name—probably because he already knew—took a stroll along one of the walkways around the buildings. Most led to the parking lots, but some were just pleasant to walk on a nice day. Occasionally, when the pressure cooker grew to be too much, a handful of employees would stroll or jog out here. Lunch hour was a favorite time. Usually, however, they remained at their desks.

  Overall, the place looked like a sterile campus, but with none of the older architecture that would have lent it grace. No one was much interested in grace except at the visitors’ entrance and central courtyard. The two of them strolled toward a parking lot, away from the buildings.

  The clerk remained edgy, and a whole bunch of new reasons for it were rattling around in his brain. How had Bill identified him? How was it the man seemed to know what was going on? He could only imagine that Bill had a massive network of informants in the CIA. Or possibly, that Bill was behind this, whatever it was. In which case the clerk figured he was about to lose his job. But he kept remembering the words from the coffee shop. He didn’t feel right about any of this.

  “So, you’ve been thinking?” Bill asked.

  “Too much or not enough.”

  “Let me assure you, the target was not responsible for what’s going on here. There’s a cover-up. You got caught in the middle.”

  The clerk wished he were anywhere else on earth. “I’m out of it now.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “The dog slipped the leash I was supposed to put on him.”

  At that, he felt Bill’s eyes bore into him. “When?”

  “Since sometime on Saturday morning. That’s the last time I saw him.”

  Bill lit a second cigarette, even though he’d barely finished the first. The discarded one wound up in sand on the top of a concrete trash bin. “Do you think that was accidental?”

  Things inside the clerk felt as if they were shredding. How much security was he violating with this conversation?

  “Look,” said Bill, “no one will know you told me anything. But I can tell you this much. An innocent man is being targeted to cover some expensively upholstered rumps.”

  The clerk swallowed hard. Loyalties clashed within him. “My boss only did what he was instructed by his superiors.”

  “I know that, sir. You and your boss are being accused of nothing, not by me or anyone else. Unfortunately you’re being used as cover. So what do you know?”

  Through a mouth as dry as sand, the clerk answered. “Very little. I got the feeling this morning that my boss thinks a plan was changed, that this wasn’t a mistake.”

  “And who were you leashing? Who?”

  “A Ukrainian general.” The clerk would have given anything for a bench right then. His legs felt like spaghetti. What had he just done?

  Bill blew a cloud of smoke. “I’ll be a better patron for you than the man you work for. Trust me. Futures are built on relationships here. You just did me a favor. Now I’ll see that you get one in return.”

  The clerk finally faced him. “Frankly, I feel so sick right now I might puke. I don’t know what I’ve done.”

  “For now,” said Bill, “just know that you did exactly the right thing. I guarantee it. And you know it, too. We don’t throw our operatives to the wolves. Let that be one of your most important lessons.”

  * * *

  The storm was blowing out. Trace stood at the window in Julie’s apartment and watched as the whiteout simply vanished. Occasionally a little whirlwind of snow would blow through the open space between the buildings, but that was it.

  While he hadn’t told Julie much about this general, he knew a lot about the man, enough to make his gut twist. A torturer, a murderer with an iron fist. He’d been smart enough to navigate himself to the upper echelons of two armies, which meant he wasn’t stupid. Certainly not stupid enough to think Trace had gone off the map in Denver.

  The trick might have misled many, but not this guy. And probably not his contacts within the agency. Oh, there’d probably been some brief consternation, but when Trace hadn’t crossed their radar again for three days? No, they were already backtracking him. They’d probably already figured he was here. Ryker was too obvious as a link. If they were applying any brains at all, they’d know that Trace had passed through the town where Ryker lived. Looking back at it, once Trace disappeared, it must be as bright as neon, even if they hadn’t intercepted any calls.

  So, because he hadn’t known that he was being pursued, because it had seemed so unlikely, because all he’d heard was an unverifiable rumor, he’d come here. Thinking what? How much had those damn pain pills affected his brain?

  Too much, evidently. He’d been a fool. He’d put a whole bunch of people at risk.

  He closed his eyes, feeling it. Putting aside his own anger with himself, he let intuition and experience guide him.

  He knew this General Andrepov. Not personally, but by reputation. He’d been part of the arsenal of assets who had occasionally passed extremely useful information.

  As it suited him, of course. The guy was always working an angle, all of it designed to protect and improve his positioning. For men like the general, life was a huge chessboard, and the pawns didn’t matter a damn unless they were useful.

  Sinking into intuition born of years in the field, he felt tension gripping him. The agency knew where to look. In fact, given the support the general was presumably receiving, he might already be in the area. How had he allowed himself to be lulled into complacency? Why had he ever allowed himself to believe the agency was trying to protect him? Because that was what they usually did?

  Because he hadn’t ever dreamed this was the man who wanted him dead. He’d never done anything to expose this general. He was no fool. He had dealt with all kinds of assets over the years, and had protected them all insofar as he was capable. But when it was a man like the general... Not only was he a necessary asset, but he was a dangerous one who had to be handled with kid gloves.

  So who had upset the man? Who had put him in a position dangerous enough that he wanted revenge, a desire so urgent that someone at the agency had named Trace as the cause of all his problems?

  He closed his eyes, facing the likelihood that he was being offered up to protect a man who honestly didn’t deserve to breathe the same air as decent people. A man whose offerings of information had been extremely useful over the years, but one who had also carefully chosen the bits he would share. A man perfectly capable of playing countries off against each other if it suited him.

  It could be someone else, of course, but any way he looked at it, it was unlikely anyone else would get this level of help, or be able to hunt Trace down. It was also highly informative that the general was now in the country on
a diplomatic mission, a great cover for whatever else he might intend.

  Instinct, intuition, experience, they were all solidifying inside Trace. He didn’t even want to turn to look at Julie, who was dozing on the couch finally.

  He felt ashamed and foolish. Between the pain in his hand and the meds he’d kept on taking to control it, he’d mistakenly thought he’d been functional enough, given that all he was supposed to do was keep moving. Clearly he was not up to par.

  Gritting his teeth, ignoring the hammering in his hand and arm, he faced himself squarely. He’d been on meds when he’d called for Ryker’s address. Stupid, stupid, and worse. The rumors had just started to reach him, and while he hadn’t believed them...

  His jaw tightened even more. It was unthinkable that the agency wouldn’t protect him as much as it would protect any asset. He’d been swamped by disbelief, had been able to brush it aside, especially after they told him they were watching over him. Would let him know if a real threat arose.

  It had never entered his numb brain that they might be hanging him out to dry. Never entered his mind that he was worth so little. Not before he headed for Ryker. Not before he dragged others into this nightmare with him.

  When Ryker and the sheriff had made him “disappear” and assured him it was better he stay here rather than risk bringing unaware innocents into his mess, he’d bought it. Freaking pain pills.

  But no matter how he battered his brain, he couldn’t find a better solution. Moving on, as Ryker had pointed out, would simply have drawn others into his shadow. He wouldn’t have been able to hide indefinitely. His resources were limited, and sooner or later he’d have needed cash, or bought gas, or somehow otherwise revealed his whereabouts. How long could he go like that, just barely skipping ahead of his hunter?

  Not long. Not when the agency was helping the general. He’d have had to make a stand somewhere.

  But going off the grid had been a big mistake in its own way, one he should have thought of. By disappearing for three days, he’d let his watchers know that he was onto them. Not good. Now they were warned, just as he was warned.

  Slowly he turned and looked at Julie. She was curled in a tight ball around a book she’d been reading, her beautiful auburn hair trailing over her face.

  He had to get out of there. He had to make sure she wouldn’t be part of whatever was coming.

  But then he remembered that visit from her girlfriend. Being snowed in for several days...what else was there to do but talk on the phone? How many people in this town now knew that Julie had a man staying with her, a man from somewhere else?

  Damn, he might as well have staked a flag on this whole town.

  He hadn’t downed any meds since those he’d taken during the night. His hand shrieked at him, battered at him, told him he needed more pills, but he refused to take them. Better the pain that wouldn’t let him rest than the painkillers that had evidently turned him into an idiot.

  The roads were being cleared even now. He’d almost bet the general was on his way here from Denver. The question was, would he go for Ryker? Or did he know more?

  Feeling sickened, Trace looked at the phone and the computer and honestly wondered how well all their evasive maneuvers had worked.

  Maybe not at all. A tap on Ryker’s phone line could quickly identify the calls he’d made to this number. Hell, these days, finding that out wouldn’t even need a warrant. National security. Yeah.

  So calls from Ryker to here, possibly tapped. And while they’d been circumspect, voice identification could place Trace at this end of the line.

  He didn’t know all the technology available to the agency because he hadn’t needed to. But he suspected they had a lot more than he’d ever dreamed. How long had the three of them been located and watched in their ignorance?

  He paced a little, forcing his brain to ignore the insistent shrieks of his hand. Okay, assume the worst. Assume the general was already on the way. There was at least some hope he wasn’t here yet.

  But he couldn’t count on them not knowing exactly where he was. At Julie’s apartment. He had to get the hell out of here quickly.

  He looked at the satellite radio they’d left him and knew he couldn’t use it except in a dire emergency. It wasn’t encrypted. Anything he said would be picked up by a number of agencies monitoring satellite transmissions.

  But staring at it, a thought was born.

  Returning to the computer, he went to the State Department’s public information and clicked on the Ukrainian delegation. While he was certain not everyone involved or meeting with them was named, he might see something.

  Twenty minutes later, he looked up, his chest so tight that he almost couldn’t draw a breath. He recognized one of the contacts the delegation was supposed to meet. Listed as an undersecretary for State, he was in actuality a high-level director at the agency, a political appointee.

  Someone who, if he slipped, would be able to press the levers of power in a way that would offer Trace Archer up as an appeasement. A way to settle one very unhappy, very dangerous man.

  Now he knew. And what he knew filled his head with a red rage.

  * * *

  Andrepov drove into the small town in a four-wheel-drive vehicle with chains on the tires. He hated the noise the chains made, but he knew they wouldn’t draw attention on these roads. No need for stealth yet. Nor would he, after Bulgaria, trust anyone else to deal with this problem.

  He had an address. He had a map. What he didn’t yet have was a way to lure his quarry out. The stupid US agents had warned him not to make a big mess because they would have trouble cleaning it up. He didn’t much care how much trouble he caused them, because they had created a near-catastrophe for him. Only years of experience and wisdom had allowed him to tamp down the fires they had awakened, to quiet those who wanted to throw him into a bottomless hole forever.

  But he’d dealt with them. Now he needed to deal with the man who’d caused all this. Once he departed the country, he didn’t care how much trouble he left in his wake, but he was experienced enough to know that a clean job would be best for him as well. After he was done with this Trace Archer, he’d have to get out quickly. It was a long drive from this town to Denver to catch the flights he needed, so he had to ensure he had time for his escape.

  It was the one thing that made him unhappy. The fools should have just kept this man in the Washington area, but he understood they had to protect themselves as well. He knew that if he burned them, they would become useless to him and his goals.

  So keep it as clean as possible.

  He’s got to surface soon, they had told him. He would need a phone, a car, some way to move again. The storm had merely stalled him, and he had taken shelter with some woman.

  The general suspected there was something else they weren’t telling him, but he believed it would not interfere with his mission. Why should it? They’d handed him this agent after a long fight and a lot of threats from him, but they’d agreed to help. If they were protecting someone who wasn’t involved, that was not a problem.

  But if there was one thing the general knew for certain, it was that the CIA needed him more than he needed them. He had access to information they could get no other way, the backroom information, the whispered information. The secrets. So yes, they’d given in to his demands.

  He had one goal and one goal only: to make it clear that no one, absolutely no one, had better screw with him again. Even now he figured that message was coming through loud and clear.

  And of course, taking his vengeance would be sweet. Revenge was necessary to a man in his position. He needed to be feared. That he also enjoyed it was merely an added benefit.

  Because he would definitely enjoy it.

  Chapter 12

  Julie awoke to gentle fingertips brushing her cheek. Opening h
er eyes, she found Trace bent over her, smiling. Then he bowed his head and kissed her deeply on her mouth. Fire poured through her almost instantly, but when she raised her hands to pull him close, to begin another adventure in his arms, he drew back.

  “Time to rise,” he said quietly. “The road outside has been plowed. Can you get to your friend’s place?”

  “Ashley?” Confused, then suddenly frightened, she sat up. “Why would I go there?”

  “Because I need to pull out of here quickly and I don’t want to leave you alone.”

  He might as well have dropped a brick on her head. Emerging from gentle sleep and surprisingly sexy and happy dreams, he had just thrust her back into the reality of all this.

  “Trace? What?”

  “I’m growing increasingly paranoid,” he said flatly. “I can’t run the risk that I’m not right. I think things are about to go south in a hurry.”

  She passed a hand across her eyes, trying to wipe away the last sleep, trying to connect with his sudden urgency. “What happened?”

  “Nothing yet.”

  “The storm...”

  “Is over. And I think with a little help from our friends, the bad guy might already be here. And he might know where I am. I want you out of here now.”

  Her heart was sinking rapidly, faster than fear was rising. This was it? He was sending her away?

  “I don’t have time to explain,” he said. “There may not be any time now. Get dressed and get out. I’m leaving, too.”

  “Leaving,” she repeated, hearing the dullness in her own voice.

  Suddenly he moved in close again, seizing her shoulder with one hand. “If I get through this, I’ll be back. I promise. Now get going. Don’t even call. Just get over there.”

  Not call? Pieces began connecting in her head. She looked at the phone and realized he thought it might be tapped. She didn’t question whether that was possible; she accepted his expertise as being far better than her own.