by Lynn Ames
“But, sir…”
“I wouldn’t push it. You’re lucky I don’t fire you outright.”
“He made an honest mistake,” Sage said, stepping forward.
“There’s no room for mistakes, honest or otherwise, in the classified section. You’re not off the hook, either.” The head clerk pointed a bony finger in Sage’s direction. “You read a privileged communiqué.”
“First of all, I have top-secret clearance.” Sage was having difficulty reining in her temper. “Second, don’t try to deflect the responsibility for this screw-up. It’s yours, and yours alone.” Sage didn’t bother mentioning that the contents made no sense to her anyway.
“We’ll see about that.”
Sage pivoted on her heel and stalked away. “Miserable son-of-a-gun.”
When she hit the street level, she shoved open the front door to the building and stepped outside. She needed fresh air. The idea surprised a laugh out of her as the first wave of heat struck her like a fist. “Just perfect.”
Vaughn pressed her lips together and prayed for patience. “Tell me again what the conditions are along the route from school to school.”
“I’m telling you, it’s Timbuktu. Lots of sand, historic sites, museums, a few camels…”
“And I’m telling you,” Vaughn said, uncrossing her legs and leaning forward, “I want a full schematic of the area, including the hole each of those camels pisses in, by tomorrow.”
“Whoa, there’s no call to get nasty.”
Vaughn glared at the man she’d come to think of as “Malian incompetent number one.” She stood and stretched. This was going nowhere. Idly, she wondered if Sage was having a better morning than she was. She shoved the thought aside.
“Look. The congressional visit is less than three weeks away. You are my core team. My go-to guys.” Vaughn made eye contact first with the regional security officer, a beefy American who looked like he’d enjoyed far too much French cooking, then with the assistant RSO, and finally, with the two Malians who acted as investigators and liaisons with Malian authorities.
She sighed. There’s a reason why I always work alone. “All right. Show me the ballroom where the ambassador’s party will be.”
As they walked to the ballroom, Vaughn found herself looking around for Sage. She didn’t know exactly where Sage’s office was, but she’d been given a blueprint of the building. The political section was housed on the second floor. The ballroom was on the first floor, but maybe Sage would be coming or going from the building.
Vaughn thrust her hands in her pockets. The last thing she needed was the distraction of a cute woman. Especially when that woman reminded her of Sara.
They passed the front door and Vaughn could’ve sworn she caught a glimpse of Sage standing outside. Keep your eye on the ball, Elliott. You do the assignment, complete it successfully, and then pack for some other exciting hot spot.
“Here we are.”
“Okay.” Vaughn tried to remember the RSO’s name—Sidney or Stan…Stephen. That was it. “Stephen, take me through an event like this. What type of food are we talking about? Is it stand-up or sit-down? Appetizers or a seven-course meal? Dancing? What?” She knew she could’ve asked Sage, but…The less contact with her, the better.
“No dancing. Lots of glad-handing, pomposity, introductions, speeches, drinking, and appetizers. Black tie. Doubtless someone more familiar with these things will be happy to give you all the particulars.”
Vaughn frowned. She was pretty sure she knew who that someone was. “I’ll need a copy of the guest list.”
“You’ll have to get that from the political section.”
Vaughn sighed. It seemed all roads led to Sage, after all. “Can you give me a rough idea?”
“The president, the prime minister, members of the prime minister’s cabinet, members of the National Assembly, local politicians, and a few noted citizens.”
Vaughn pulled out a small notebook and began taking notes. “I’m assuming the president has his own security. How many, and will they be in attendance as well?”
“His bodyguards go everywhere with him. There are six of them. I’d be surprised if he took a leak without them.” Realizing what he’d said, Stephen reddened. “Sorry, ma’am.”
“Forget it,” Vaughn waved away the apology. “Nothing I haven’t heard or said before. I’ll need names and background checks on every member of the president’s team. And the same for the prime minister, assuming he has his own team.”
She moved toward a door at the far side of the room. “Where does this go?”
“Kitchen. It’s convenient for the caterers.”
“We’ll need security stationed both inside the kitchen and on this side of the door.” Vaughn measured the room with her eyes. “Two Americans checking IDs and invitations as folks enter the building, and two Americans and two Malians doing the same thing just outside the ballroom doors. I’m sure the Malians can help verify that the partygoers are who they claim to be.”
“Is that really necessary?”
“Yes.” Vaughn cut him off. “And I want four Malian gendarmes on each wall inside the reception.”
“Ma’am, we’ve never had any trouble—”
“Have you ever had a visit led by such a high-ranking American official?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Didn’t think so. And stop calling me ma’am.”
“Yes, ma’am—err, Agent Elliott.”
Vaughn rolled her eyes. “Just call me Vaughn. It’ll be a lot easier on both of us.” She walked toward the exit, the group following in tow. “I’m sure you have your own way of doing things, Stephen, but I’ve been sent here at the behest of the secretary of state himself to ensure that nothing happens to the majority leader and her party. Rest assured that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”
“Yes, ma—Vaughn.”
“I want to personally interview every security officer you bring in, including the gendarmes. I want full dossiers on all of them, and I do mean full. Is there any chance of meeting with the head of the president’s security team?”
“I don’t know. I’ll look into it for you.”
“Make it happen, Stephen.” Vaughn swung through the ballroom door and plowed into someone passing in the corridor outside. She reached out instinctively and grabbed the person around the waist to keep her from falling. “I’m sor—” She froze when she realized the woman was Sage.
“Don’t worry about…”
“Hi,” Vaughn said, staring a little too long into those dazzling blue eyes. “Fancy meeting you here.”
Sage took a step back, forcing Vaughn to release her grip. “Not really. I work here.”
“Having a good day?” Vaughn smiled at Sage’s irritated tone.
“Spiffy. You?”
“About the same.” Vaughn looked over her shoulder. “You guys can go for now. Call me as soon as you have the information I’ve requested.” To Sage, she said, “Are you busy? Can I buy you lunch?”
Vaughn watched as a series of emotions flitted across Sage’s face. Your eyes are so expressive. I can see every feeling reflected there. She resisted the urge to reach out and brush a wisp of hair away from Sage’s eyes. You’re fighting with yourself because you want to say yes, but you wish you could make yourself say no.
“I suppose that would be all right. But I’ve only got time for the cafeteria.”
“Lead on.”
After they’d walked a little way, Vaughn said, “I thought you told me you were at my disposal for the length of my stay? If that’s the case, your idea of availability and mine seem to be different.”
“I’ve got responsibilities too.” Anger flared in Sage’s eyes and her chin jutted out, seemingly defying Vaughn to disagree with her. Vaughn found the look nearly irresistible.
“I certainly didn’t mean to imply that you didn’t. Sorry if you took offense. I was only tweaking you.” She hoped her tone sounded sufficiently conciliatory.
&
nbsp; “I’m sorry,” Sage said. “I’ve had a crappy morning, including an argument with the biggest ass ever created, and I shouldn’t take it out on you.”
“Who’s the ass? Want me to take care of him?”
“He’s the head clerk in the classified section of the mailroom and I—” Sage shook her head. “Never mind. I don’t want to think about it anymore. Let’s have a peaceful lunch.”
“As you wish. But if you change your mind and want me to clobber him or just rough him up a bit, let me know.”
Sage laughed, finally, and Vaughn found herself feeling much relieved. She wasn’t entirely sure she liked just how important it had been to her to restore Sage’s good humor.
Once they were seated, Sage asked, “How’s it going so far?”
“Slowly. Malian time and sensibilities are a little more laid back than I’m accustomed to.”
“Yeah, I should have warned you about that. It’s tough to get them worked up about much.”
“I’m going to need a few things I hope you can help me with.”
“Such as?” Sage took a bite of her chef salad.
“A full list of attendees for the ball, a formal itinerary for the event, a briefing on the president’s…proclivities…anything you think I might need to know to avoid any embarrassing security concerns or situations.”
“You don’t ask for much, do you?”
“Nope.” Vaughn took a bite of a surprisingly good hamburger. “I thought you said we wouldn’t find any good food outside the hotel.”
“This is the American Embassy. In here, you get American food. Trust me, when you eat in any of the restaurants in the city or in an outside village, you’ll see what I mean.”
“I do trust you.” Vaughn pressed her lips into a thin line. There was more truth in the statement than she wanted to admit. She was not someone who trusted easily, so the revelation, so close on the heels of the other thoughts swirling in her head, was unsettling. Impulsively, she said, “We could start over dinner tonight. I still owe you a dinner from last night.”
Sage seemed on the verge of declining, so Vaughn pushed ahead. “After all, the visit is only three weeks away, and there’s so much I’m going to need to know. There’s no time to waste. Not to mention the fact that I don’t know anyone else here and you’d be leaving me to fend for myself.”
“Oh, sure. Lay it on thick, why don’t you.” Sage tapped her fingers on the table as if considering the notion. “Okay. But we’re not eating out. I’ll cook.”
“You’ll cook?”
“Something wrong with that?”
“Not at all. Tell me what I can bring, what time, and where.”
Once they had settled the details, Sage rose. “I’ve got to get back to work. I’ll see you later.”
When she’d gone, Vaughn murmured, “Indeed you will.”
Ambassador Raymond Dumont ran two fingers nervously under his collar. He scanned the communiqué for the second time, nodding as he read. Then he read the note from the head mail clerk. Most unfortunate. The situation would have to be dealt with. He pressed the intercom button.
“Yes, sir?”
“Please send Nathan Trindle to my office.”
“Trindle, sir? From the mail room?”
“Yes.” Although his executive assistant was clearly perplexed, she had served seven ambassadors over the course of her career. In addition to an excellent institutional memory, discretion was her strong suit, a trait for which she was well rewarded.
“Right away, sir.”
Dumont got up and went to the window. For several moments, he watched the traffic on the street below. People went about their business—for them it was just another ordinary day in the Malian capital. He envied them. He wished, not for the first time, that he could return to the simple days of being just another State Department flunky.
There was a light rap on the door, and he turned. “Come.”
“Nathan Trindle is here, sir.”
“Thank you, Doris. Send him in.”
Trindle stood uncertainly in the center of the room. “You wanted to see me, sir?”
“Yes, Trindle. Sit down.” The ambassador pointed to a pair of well-appointed visitor chairs in front of his desk. He continued to stand. He wanted Trindle to be as intimidated as possible, and while he knew being summoned to the ambassador’s office should have been enough, he wasn’t taking any chances.
The clerk was sitting on the edge of his seat, nervously bouncing his legs up and down. Dumont picked up the envelope from his desk.
“Does this look familiar to you, Mr. Trindle?” He held the envelope up so that Trindle could see it but did not let him touch it.
“Y-yes, sir. I brought it up here myself, sir.”
“I see. Your note indicates that a very serious breach in protocol occurred with this item. Why is that?” Dumont kept his voice deadly calm.
“I-I’m not sure, sir. It seems the classified clerk who originally handled the piece made a faulty assumption.”
“Is that so?”
“Y-yes, sir. The envelope was in the grouping to do with the upcoming congressional visit, so the clerk mistakenly forwarded it to the political officer.”
Dumont stroked his beard, then took a deliberate step forward so that he was looming over Trindle. “Who was this…unfortunate clerk?”
“Richard Ashton, sir. I’ve already dealt with him. He’ll never handle another classified document, I promise you.”
“I should hope not. Did Mr. Ashton happen to read the contents of the envelope, Mr. Trindle?”
“No, sir. He did not. I questioned him within an inch of his life, and I am willing to swear that he only looked at the outside of the envelope before delivering it to the political officer. She read it.”
“We’ll get to that in a moment. And you, Mr. Trindle? Did you open the envelope and read?”
“Absolutely not. I swear to you on all that I hold dear, all I did was re-seal it and bring it straight here.”
Dumont could smell the man’s fear, but there was no evasiveness in his eyes. The ambassador held eye contact for a few seconds longer just to be sure. No, he hadn’t looked.
“You spoke with Dr. McNally yourself?”
“Yes, sir.” Trindle sat up a little straighter. “She read the letter, sir. She told me so.”
At that moment, Trindle reminded Dumont of a weasel. He looked a little like one, and he most certainly acted like one. “Did she say anything else?”
“No, sir, just that she read it because it was delivered to her.”
Dumont stared at Trindle a moment longer. “Very well, Mr. Trindle. You may go. I expect that nothing this egregious will ever happen under your watch again. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“If it does, it will be your last mistake. Are we clear?”
“Crystal, sir.”
Dumont waited until the door shut and he was alone again. He pushed the intercom button.
“Yes, sir?”
“I don’t want to be disturbed for any reason, Doris.”
“Yes, sir.”
Ambassador Dumont loosened his tie and undid the top button of his shirt. He knew what he had to do. It was a shame, but it was out of his hands. He picked up his secure phone and dialed a phone number from memory.
CHAPTER FOUR
“Your home isn’t what I expected.” Vaughn was studying a Georgia O’Keefe print on the wall in Sage’s well-appointed living room.
“Feel free to look around. I’d give you a tour, but my hands are full,” Sage called from the kitchen.
“What are you making?” Vaughn laughed when Sage jumped.
“How did you do that?” Sage grabbed a paper towel to clean up the mess she just made.
“Do what?”
“Sneak up on me without me hearing you.”
“Tricks of the trade.”
“You need that in the security business?”
“Sometimes.” Vaughn sniffed a
ppreciatively over Sage’s shoulder. Sage bumped her with her backside to create some space between them. “Mmm, chicken cordon bleu. Fabulous. Obviously, you like to cook.”
“When you live in some of the places I’ve lived, you learn all kinds of handy skills.”
“Like where to get the ingredients for fancy French dishes when they aren’t readily available to the populace?”
“It pays to have connections. Jacques runs the kitchen at your hotel and does their ordering. He occasionally is nice enough to order a little extra in exchange for a few American dollars.”
“An industrious woman. I like that.” Vaughn noted the blush as it crept up Sage’s neck. She found it most endearing.
“I get by.” Sage moved to the oven. “It’ll be a little while before dinner. Sorry about that. I got caught up at work.”
“It’s not a problem. I’m in no hurry.”
Sage straightened up and closed the oven door. “Now, then. Why don’t we sit by the pool?”
“Sure.” Vaughn picked up the glass of wine Sage poured for her earlier, then followed her through the living room and out onto a spacious patio.
Candle-lit lanterns at even intervals created a pleasant glow and just enough light to see. There were two chaise lounges, several straight-backed chairs, and a table.
Vaughn put her glass on the table and walked to the edge of a regulation-sized pool. “Nice. Nobody could say you were living in squalor.”
“No, that’s true. But it’s sometimes hard to reconcile the way I get to live with the conditions of the people, you know?”
Vaughn turned her head to gaze into Sage’s eyes. There was such integrity and earnestness in them. It aroused a protectiveness in her that rang alarm bells, but Vaughn chose to ignore them.
“Yeah, I can understand that.” Because she wanted to reach out and touch Sage, Vaughn shoved her hands in her pockets. She stepped back and dropped into one of the upright chairs. “So, we got sidetracked yesterday. You were about to tell me why you joined the diplomatic corps.”
Sage selected the seat opposite her. “Do you want the long version or the short one?”
“Are we in a rush?” Vaughn posed the question casually, although she knew what she wanted the answer to be.
