by JB Sanders
“Made up for it?” She leaned in.
Glen smirked, and then looked over at Tyler. “In the bedroom, obviously.”
She was quiet. Everyone around them coughed and shuffled their feet. There may have been some blushing, but not from Glen and Tyler.
Tyler said brightly: “So, we’re not having problems, we’re not breaking up, and we harmlessly flirt with lots of people. Next question?”
The reporter, so far still nameless, seemed daunted but still game. “Does that mean you and your husband engage in threesomes and orgies?”
Tyler considered this for a moment, then shook his head. “You know what? That’s a stupidly personal question that no one in his right mind would answer, but I’ll tell you because I want this on the record.” Tyler paused for emphasis. “No, Glen and I do not invite anyone else into our bed. No, we do not go to sex parties, wild roman orgies, or anything of the kind. As it turns out, we’re old-fashioned guys.”
Tyler reached out without looking, and clasped Glen’s hand. “And now we’re going to shift our monogamous butts and go to lunch. Have a nice day.”
***
In the car after lunch, Glen pulled Tyler’s hand into his and gave Tyler his serious face.
“Uh oh! What’s up, stud?” Tyler closed the laptop he’d been engrossed in, turning to face Glen.
“So what is it with us flirting so much with other people, and getting caught up in it? Are we having problems?”
Even James looked in the rearview mirror at this. Then he went back to watching the road.
Tyler opened his mouth with an immediate reply, and closed it again. Glen could see him give the thing serious thought.
“I think we were both shutting ourselves off from so much of our sexuality for so long that we’re still giddy with the possibilities. I don’t think it’s a statement on our relationship. If anything, we’ve got each other to share this exciting part of our lives. And to catch each other if something scary or bad happens.”
“Like that red-headed temptress in Paris?” Glen smirked, but only a little. Tyler had been pretty worked up over her, and Glen had definitely been jealous.
Tyler sighed. “Yeah, her. I still feel bad about that. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“I know what you were thinking.” Glen smirked for real this time.
“Yeah, but … if at the time I was distracted, even tempted I guess, when I think about it now, she just doesn’t seem that attractive. Compared to you, I mean.”
Glen kissed Tyler thoroughly. It was the only appropriate response.
The Perils of Eating Out
Even Tyler was a little surprised that LeMans and his men actually showed up to the beachside dinner.
Glen guessed it was because of who Tyler was that LeMans came. Or maybe for curiosity’s sake, or because the man wanted to get whatever was going to happen over with.
Whatever the reason, he brought everyone but his cook. He brought his bodyguards, his lieutenants, his gopher, even the guys who crewed one of his boats. And they were all packing. They weren’t even being subtle about it.
It was a beautiful stretch of beach, pristine sand glittering where the light from the tiki torches struck it. They’d setup a couple of long tables in a circle of torches, chairs rambled around them. The moon was just rising out of the water, like it was invited to the party and had taken a seat at the head of one of the tables. A cool breeze was coming off the sea, slightly salty and moist.
“Mr. Conrad.” LeMans nodded to Tyler. He looked around. Besides Glen, and some waiters in white tuxedos, there wasn’t anyone else around. “A private party?”
Tyler shot LeMans men a glance. “Fairly private. I hope you enjoy barbecue and ice cream.”
LeMans grimaced with amusement. “Yeah, you do your research. Heard that about you.”
LeMans walked with Tyler as they stepped down to the beach, and into the circle of torches.
They took their seats, Tyler seated across from LeMans, Glen at Tyler’s side. The waiters immediately began serving a light lobster soup.
LeMans’ men sat down, the more important ones around their boss.
“So, what is it we’re discussing?” LeMans took a spoonful of soup, and relaxed a little. As with most things Tyler did, the food was exceptional.
“Peace talks between you and Vedrasse. Figuring out a way to settle the problems between you.”
LeMans looked left, down, and then nodded. “Yes, it would be best if we settled our differences. Better for business.”
Tyler shot Glen a quick look. It was only a flash, but knowing Tyler so well, Glen knew that he’d seen it, too. LeMans was holding something back. Something big.
“Good attitude. Vedrasse seems to think you two are irreconcilable.” Tyler took a sip of his soup.
LeMans sighed. “The man is an idiot, but he knows his business. I’m sure we can make an agreement.”
“Good to hear. That’ll make my time here easier.”
There was a “pfft” noise, then the man sitting two down from Tyler jerked a little and fell into his soup.
Tyler glanced at him. “Some of your men don’t seem to know how to hold their liquor, LeMans.”
Tyler kept eating.
The rest of LeMans’ men looked around, wondering what was going on. One of them levered their compatriot out of the soup and onto the table.
There was a flurry of whistling sounds, tiny darts appeared on necks, then LeMans and all LeMans’ men suddenly slumped in their chairs.
Except one.
He stood up, panicked, and drew his gun. He didn’t know where to point it.
“What’s going on? What have you done?”
Tyler swallowed the bite of food he had in his mouth, took a sip of water, and leaned back in his chair. “Hold on a moment. You’re in no danger.” Tyler looked off into the darkness. “Heart rates?”
From the darkness, Genevieve said quite loudly, “All check out. We’re good.”
Tyler smiled. “Excellent. You just never know how these things will go when you plan them.” Tyler turned slightly to face the man with the gun. “Anthony Crichton, you are a very difficult man to separate from your undercover assignment.”
Crichton’s gun didn’t waver. “My name is Suarez.”
“Sure it is. You might have some trouble believing me, but this is a rescue.” Tyler set his napkin on the table, moving slowly so he didn’t present Mr. Crichton with any alarming reasons to shoot his gun. “I got your real name from the same person who asked me to come down here and pull you out: the President.”
Crichton snorted. “Pull the other one, it’s got bells on.”
In reply, Tyler met his eyes directly, and spoke very precisely. “Bellwether. Plum. Sage. Cemetery.”
Crichton immediately lowered the gun. “Holy hell. You aren’t kidding.”
Tyler shook his head. “I’m not kidding.”
“This is a crazy way to pull me out of undercover work. And why aren’t my handlers here?” Crichton pulled his chair around and sat, facing Tyler and Glen.
Tyler frowned. “I’m sorry to tell you this, but your co-worker Tom Stewart was killed.”
Crichton flinched. “Shit. What happened?”
“The National Intelligence higher ups believe that your names were sold to the highest bidder. Why you’re still alive is a little mystery.”
Crichton shook his head, a rueful expression on his face. “A car accident.”
“Come again?”
“An information broker was in town two weeks ago. He paid Vedrasse a visit and he was on his way to visit LeMans,” Crichton jerked his head towards the crime boss. “When the broker’s car was in a pile-up. He and his men were killed.”
“Really an accident?”
“Yeah. As far as we could tell.”
“Then sheer luck was what saved you. I’m sorry about your partner.”
Crichton nodded. Then he looked over at their dinner companions. “This w
as kind of ballsy. Thank you.”
“No problem. And I’ve handled hairier situations.” Tyler shrugged.
Kevin and Steve began going around the table, tucking small envelopes into everyone’s suit jacket. And retrieving darts.
“I appreciate that your guys are policing their brass, but what are they doing with the envelopes?” Crichton had a look on his face halfway between confused and giddy. “Leaving a tip?”
“Oh yes, you might very well call it that.” Tyler smiled a little grimly. “They’re covering our retreat.”
Crichton regarded Tyler for a heartbeat or two. “I’m more used to hearing that phrase used in conjunction with machine gun fire, or maybe aerial bombardment. How are little pieces of paper going to cover our retreat? What, did you write: ‘Don’t even think about it!’ on them?”
Tyler grinned. “Oh, that’s good. I should have thought of that.” Tyler flipped a hand. “No, those are just slips of paper with each gentleman’s current bank balance, bank account number, and institution on them.”
Crichton raised his eyebrows. “That’s… that’s hitting a bit below the belt, isn’t it?”
Tyler’s eyes were half-lidded, and his smile grew … catlike. “It’s the downside of playing this game without lethal fire — you have to cheat like nobody’s business. We can hardly level an insult of this magnitude against these fine men and then not expect some kind of vicious retaliation. But when you threaten their money, the very reason, outwardly anyhow, for their current profession? It makes things crystal clear.”
Tea With Spies
The next morning, they had brunch in the ship’s lounge.
Cookie had laid out quite the spread, including scones, whipped butter, marmalade, kippers, a variety of cured meats, several cheeses, and fresh-baked bread. The tea was dark, flavorful and didn’t actually need cream or sugar.
Anthony Crichton looked around. “You sure know how to eat.”
Glen nodded. “That we do.”
Tucker came in carrying a laptop and sat down across the table from Crichton. “Morning.”
Crichton stared at him. “Why do you have a mid-level analyst from the agency joining us for breakfast?”
Tyler swallowed his scone. “Because after we eat, you need to be debriefed.” Tyler motioned at Tucker. “And that would be us and Mr. Von Rees here.”
Crichton regarded Tucker/Von Rees. “Ok.”
***
After the plates were cleared, another pot of tea brought in, and the people without sufficient security clearance had left, Tucker set the laptop to record. Only Glen, Tyler, Tucker, Crichton, and James remained in the room.
“Ok, start from the mission briefing in DC and then work forward to now.” Tucker looked inquisitive.
Crichton frowned slightly. “No. This is completely outside the proper protocol. I understand you needed to pull me out abruptly but a full debriefing should be done in a Langley conference room.”
Tyler nodded. “Sure. Show him the letter, Tucker.”
Crichton looked at the letter and his face slipped for a moment before he recovered it. “Who the hell gave an analyst a National Security Letter?”
“President.” Tucker clipped out. He looked annoyed.
Crichton sighed. “Fine. But let’s stick to some pertinent topics and wait to do the full debrief. Properly done, those should take several days.”
“If I may, Tucker?” Tyler said.
Tucker waved. “Sure. You know more about what’s going on out here than I do. Bermuda isn’t even in my area of specialty.”
Tyler leaned forward. “What’s going on between Vedrasse and LeMans?”
“They hate each with a passion. They’ve been quietly, and not so quietly, poaching each other’s men and harassing each other’s ships. It’s been near an outright war for about a month, at least until two weeks ago.” Crichton tapped on the table.
“What happened two weeks ago?” Tyler said.
“LeMans took his right-hand guy to some kind of hush-hush meeting. No one know what it was about, just that some woman with powerful connections wanted a private meeting. Afterwards, LeMans told every member of his team, in person, to lay off Vedrasse.”
Tucker looked startled. “What?”
“Yeah, took all of his guys by surprise, too. All of a sudden, no war. Then he pulls all his guys from the routes he contested with Vedrasse and set them up running all his main routes. He just about doubled the number of runs. Lots of new product in the pipeline, mostly drugs.” Crichton shook his head. “If you hadn’t come along when you did, I’d have broken cover to at least dead-drop a report. This is some kind of big shake-up.”
“What do you think it means?” Glen said.
Crichton bit his lip for a second, then stopped. “Not sure. If I had to guess, I would say that LeMans has started working for someone else. But that doesn’t make a lot of sense if you know the guy — he doesn’t take direction well.”
After a quiet moment for everyone to digest this, James said: “What do you think his reaction to your extraction will be?”
Crichton thinned his lips very slightly. “He won’t take it well. He doesn’t like failure. He’ll certainly want me dead and he’ll change some of his routines. But I don’t think he’ll do anything to you or your people.”
“Why do you think that?” Tyler said.
“LeMans is cautious, careful. He likes to have a plan for every contingency before he makes a move.”
Glen snorted. Tyler gave him a briefly bashful look.
Crichton looked between them. “And he’s heard of your reputation. I do hope most of that is invention and lies.”
Tyler shrugged and smiled. “That’s a need-to-know item.”
Crichton nodded. “Fair enough.”
Glen leaned forward. “Right, what that means is that we should keep you out of the way and out of sight. We can make one of the cabins available to you and provide meals, but I think you should stay confined to quarters for a while.”
James grunted his approval. Crichton dipped his head briefly.
Tyler got up and started pacing in the tiny space available. “So we have consolidation in the area, a war that was brewing up is suddenly quelled, and someone bought a list of the US spies in the area. Yeah, something bigger is definitely going on here.”
Clue in the Wind
“Why are we in the lounge with the lights off again? Is this a kinky sex thing?” Glen grinned and gave Tyler’s hand a squeeze.
“I like what you’re thinking, but no.” Tyler pressed a button and a painting on the wall changed to a TV screen. A fairly bright light came on, in their face, and Glen realized that the TV was also a teleconference unit.
Rosa’s face lit up the screen. “Hey, boys, how’s it hanging?”
“Low and a little to the left, thanks for asking.” Tyler smirked. “But on to business. I think we have something for Excalibur to look at. And I think we’ll take this one to Red Level security, thanks.”
Rosa pressed a button on her end, and a red border appeared around the screen.
“Right, boss. Hit me.”
“I think we’re eating around the edges of something bigger here. There are hints that some serious information, US government information, is in the wind. Can you find out what it might be?”
Rosa raised an eyebrow. “Any hints?”
“I’m guessing it’s something about CIA agents assisting in drug enforcement operations.”
Rosa rolled her eyes. “Oh, not that old saw of the Non-Official Cover list?”
Tyler nodded. “‘Fraid so. Probably something more specific, like operations in the Caribbean or maybe just South America. I doubt it’s the full world-wide list.”
“Uh, question?” Glen had his hand up and put it down sheepishly when both of them smirked at him. “Non-official cover?”
Rosa leaned on the desk on her side of the video. “Spies can either work for the diplomatic corps, in some kind of faked up officia
l capacity, or they can just be some random fake person, like clergy, tourists, or whatever. If you’re official, even if your real job is spying, you still have cover. Diplomatic immunity. The government can acknowledge you, officially request your return, send in the diplomats, all that.” Rosa made a gesture. “If you’re non-official, your backup is whatever team they sent with you, or a single phone call for help.”
Tyler snorted. “Or a SEAL team pulling your ass out of the fire.”
Rosa pointed a finger gun at Tyler and pulled the trigger. “Exactly. I don’t know who leaked the term but some idiot blabbed that acronym to Hollywood years ago and now every goddamned plot revolves around this NOC list crap. I’ll nibble at this under protest. That is such a cliche.” Rosa made a helpless gesture. “Jeeze boss, you usually bring me these really cool jobs — unique, bigger than advertised, and a little crazy. This is just … boring.”
Tyler winced. “I know, I know!”
Glen cleared his throat. “Try this: right now, no one around here appears to know where that information is, which means…”
“It’s up for grabs. That does make it a little more interesting.”
Tyler leaned forward. “Now try this on for size: get me a short list of the people who have access to that information, and can plausibly sell it without notice.”
Rosa looked thoughtful. “Ok, now we’re talking a dog with bite. I’ll have something for you in the morning.”
“Thanks, Rosa.”
We Need an Action Scene
“I can’t believe you’re treasure hunting in the middle of an op.” Tucker gave Tyler a hand up to the metal stairway of the research ship. They’d motored over in a launch this time, partly because a sea voyage was more pleasant than a helicopter, and partly because it let them quietly use the submarines for extra security.
“Remember, this is our cover story. If we don’t reinforce that impression every now and again, it stops being a cover.” Tyler, in turn, gave Glen a hand up.
