A Covert Affair

by Susan Mann

  “Okay. It’s called the Sayaji Rao Gaekwad Library. Ravi, if you see any signs that point us to it, give a shout,” Quinn said and opened a map on her phone.

  “Roger that.”

  “We’re almost to the campus,” she said. “The roads are laid out in semicircles with spokes. We need to get on Semi Circle Road Number Two. Then turn right on Radial Road Eight. The library will be on the right.”

  James used the police car to full advantage and sped through the campus. Quinn went almost horizontal during the violent right turn onto Radial Road Eight.

  The car screeched to a stop in front of the library. They jumped out and sprinted for the entrance. Terrified students and faculty rushed from the building.

  “Looks like we guessed right,” Quinn shouted and dodged a flailing backpack.

  They pushed against the stream of people racing out the doors, hurdled the turnstile, and ran into the central rotunda. Tables and study carrels were littered with books and papers left behind.

  Bookshelves surrounded the central study area. Above, a second floor of shelving circled the rotunda. There were a million places Harbir could be hiding.

  “Where is she?” Quinn shouted.

  Ravi spoke with one of the librarians helping evacuate the last remaining students. She pointed toward a specific section of shelves.

  “A student saw a woman messing with a bomb in the reference section a few minutes ago,” Ravi said. “She’s in the Qs. Religion.”

  Quinn looked at the librarian. “Q? Religion is B.”

  “That is the Library of Congress Classification,” the woman answered in English. “We use Colon Classification.”

  “Interesting. I’d love to learn—”

  James grabbed her hand and jerked her along. “You can nerd out later.”

  “Right. Sorry.”

  They weaved their way through tables and chairs to the reference section. They spotted Harbir at the end of a book stack, hunched over a black canvas bag. They stopped several yards away.

  Quinn kept her voice calm and conversational when she said, “Hi, Harbir. It’s me. Quinn Riordan. You remember me, right?”

  Her head snapped up. When Harbir looked directly at her, Quinn felt the blood drain from her face. The kindness, the intelligence, the humor that had once shone in Harbir’s eyes was gone. Now they were dull, hollow, and lifeless. Haunted by the sins of others, she was driven by the demons of revenge, bitterness, and resentment to commit sins of her own.

  “Please don’t do this. The books from the Sikh Reference Library were found and returned just this morning. Please don’t burn this library. It had nothing to do with what happened in 1984.”

  Harbir stood. “No, I must. They must feel the pain and loss I have lived with my entire life.”

  “But doing this won’t lessen your pain and loss,” Quinn said. “Disarm the bomb and give up. Think of your daughters. They need you. Their father is already lost to them. They shouldn’t lose their mother, too. Don’t let Operation Blue Star destroy any more lives.”

  Harbir’s certainty appeared to be wavering. She glanced down at the bomb. Her face turned to stone when she looked at Quinn again. “I am the Guru’s Falcon. I—”

  The earsplitting crack of a gunshot made Quinn jump. A dark, round mark appeared on Harbir’s forehead. She crumpled to the floor.

  “No!” Quinn screamed. She lunged forward, but James held her back. She struggled to free herself and go to her friend. “No!”

  James didn’t let go. “She’s gone.”

  “She can’t be. She has daughters who need her. The library needs her.” Quinn stopped struggling and stared at the lifeless body through blurred vision.

  A soldier cautiously stepped into view two aisles over. His rifle remained trained on Harbir.

  “I know, baby. I’m sorry.” James gently pulled her to him and wrapped her in his arms. She buried her face in his chest and sobbed.

  After a minute, James whispered, “I’m sorry, but we need to clear out.”

  She nodded, knowing they couldn’t risk being exposed. She lifted her head from his chest, drew in a hiccuppy breath, and wiped her wet cheeks with her fingers. “Let’s go.”

  She was completely numb as they walked through the library and out the door. Eyes to the ground, she never made eye contact with the soldiers, police, and bomb squad swarming the building.

  Quinn, James, and Ravi left the police car behind and walked to the edge of the campus. There, Ravi hailed a tuk-tuk and ordered it to take them to the nicest hotel in Varanasi.

  Between their dirty, sweaty clothes, Quinn’s bloody and matted hair, and the gash on Ravi’s nose, they looked like they’d barely survived a zombie apocalypse. It was no wonder, then, that everyone gaped at them as they traveled to the hotel. Quinn was beyond caring. To say it had been a long day was a magnificent understatement.

  Once checked into a room, Quinn showered and rinsed the blood from her hair, careful not to have the water spray directly on the wound. Now clean and swathed in a thick hotel bathrobe, she picked up her dirty clothes and considered tossing them onto one of the funeral pyres floating on the nearby Ganges. She stuffed them in a bag for the hotel to launder instead.

  She sat on the edge of the bed while James inspected her scalp. “It doesn’t need stitches.” He stepped back and considered her. “When was the last time you ate?”

  She gave him a blank stare. “I have no idea.” She thought back over the events of the previous twenty-four hours. “Before going to the Golden Temple this morning, I think? You haven’t eaten either.”

  “That’s why I’m calling room service.”

  “What about Ravi?”

  “We talked while you were in the shower. I’ll order for him and he’ll come over when the food gets here.”

  James called and placed their order. Then he hiked his thumb toward the bathroom and said, “I’m gonna go take a quick shower.”

  “Okay.” She crawled across the mattress and settled back against a pile of pillows.

  James disappeared into the bathroom. Seconds later, she heard the spray of water.

  She grabbed the remote and turned on the TV. Video played of the cratered and burning golden spires of the Kashi Vishwanath temple. A sharp sob escaped when a picture of Harbir appeared. She covered her mouth with a hand, her chin quivering as grief welled up. She clicked off the TV and stared at the blank screen.

  It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Her heart wasn’t supposed to break for the person who had caused so much terror and mayhem and destruction. The bad guys they went after were supposed to be evil and soulless and faceless, not someone she knew personally and liked and considered a friend. Who was a mother and wife and daughter.

  Overall, her first assignment as a covert operative had been a success. They had recovered irreplaceable items of a long-lost library, busted open a drugs-for-votes conspiracy, intercepted a heroin shipment, and stopped the destruction of a university library. The mystery, the intrigue, the thrill of discovery, the immersion into a different culture had been as exhilarating as she always believed it would be. But it came with a price she never expected: anguish over the devastated lives left in vengeance’s wake, anger over the wanton destruction of precious cultural artifacts, sorrow for failing to save a bitter and broken soul, grief that her actions indirectly led to the death of a friend.

  The bathroom door opened. James stepped out wearing only a white towel around his waist. The second he looked at her, he said, “Quinn? Baby, what’s the matter?” He was at her side in an instant and gathered her in his arms.

  She laid her head on his chest and wept, her hot tears dripping onto his cool skin. When the flood of emotion ebbed, she croaked, “I couldn’t save her.”

  “You tried,” he said softly. “It’s not your fault.”

  She sniffed and nodded against his chest. “There was a moment in the library when I thought . . .” She couldn’t bring herself to finish the sentence.


  “I know. I saw it, too.” His arms squeezed her tighter. “You’re not responsible for what happened to her. She made choices. Her actions had consequences. Things would be different if she hadn’t had the ambassador kidnapped and the manuscripts stolen. She was the one who built a bomb and was about to blow up a library.”

  “Is that how you deal with knowing your actions led to someone’s death? Or inaction?”

  “It’s even harder when you’re the one who ends a life,” he said quietly. “You have to remind yourself over and over again that decisions were made and actions were taken by others to put you in that position of life and death.”

  “Have you, um . . .”

  He didn’t make her finish her question. “Yeah, I have. Twice. I did what I had to do.” His thumb brushed her cheek. “Feel any better? Did what I said help?”

  “I do and it did. Thanks.” Quinn did honestly feel better. But she also knew that she was forever changed by what had happened that day.

  “You’re welcome.” He kissed the side of her head. “Any time.” He glanced at the clothes they’d bought in the hotel’s boutique neatly folded at the foot of the bed. “I should get dressed before the food comes.”

  “Don’t do it for my sake, although my guess is Ravi would appreciate it if you wore pants.”

  He chuckled and said, “Accurate.” James picked up his ringing phone from the nightstand. “Anderson.”

  She lifted her head and looked at him.

  “It’s Meyers,” he whispered.

  She nodded and returned her head to his chest.

  After a stint of listening, James said, “That’s great. I’ll let them know.” He paused. “We’ll be flying back to Amritsar first thing tomorrow. Our clothes and gear are still there, and Ravi needs to get back to work.” He ended the call with, “Roger that.”

  He dropped the phone on the mattress. “The tech guys got access to Harbir’s computer and did their thing. They figured out Samir Singh and his thieving army buddies had Ambassador Sharma holed up in a house in Anacostia.”

  “No wonder they dropped off the map so fast. That’s only a couple of miles from the Jefferson Building. They probably had him stashed before we even realized he’d been taken.” She tilted her face up toward his. “Please tell me they got him out safe. I mean, the guy was a massive son of a bitch to Harbir’s father, but hopefully he’s changed since then. Besides, Kavita and her mom want him back.”

  “They did. And before you ask, they secured the stolen manuscripts, too.”

  “Good. And there’s no connection to Darvesh Singh?”

  “No. The army officer in charge of putting the security team together for the Library of Congress detail has been taken into custody. He’s apparently a relative of one of the guys who shot up the Kashi Vishwanath today. He knew which soldiers were pro-Khalistan and recruited them to steal the manuscripts and kidnap Sharma.”

  “I’m glad Mr. Singh has been cleared. I’m sure Grandpa is, too.”

  “Mm-hmm. Meyers also told me to tell you job well done and it’s time to come home.” James kissed her forehead and then bounced off the bed. “But first, we feast.”

  Quinn watched him gather his clothes with a sense of melancholy. Not only would it take time for her to fully process the events of the past couple of weeks, the bliss of constantly being in James’s presence was coming to an end. Again.

  The realization their spontaneous op to India had allowed them to stay together longer than expected cheered her. At that very moment, James was supposed to be in Moscow, not dropping his towel in front of her. She hoped another international library emergency would arise before he returned to Russia, requiring them to jet off on another adventure together. If not, she would savor every moment with him until he left. It was all she could do.

  She was in love with a spy.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Quinn hiked the front of her strapless violet bridesmaid dress up with both hands and was thankful she’d made it through Brian and Nicole’s wedding without a wardrobe malfunction. Now she just had to make it through the rest of the reception and she’d be home free. Her shoes were killing her, and her sweats called to her from her hotel room upstairs. She ignored the urge to flee the reception and pressed on.

  She spied Nicole still in her traditional Korean clothes after the paebaek and sidled up next to her. “You should be an outfielder for the Dodgers. You can catch anything in that apron of yours. Two chestnuts and three dates? I can’t wait to see you with five kids.”

  “Yeah, don’t hold your breath, Q,” Nicole said. “My mother rigged it somehow.”

  “Sure she did.”

  “That’s my story and I’m sticking to it. Besides, I’m not going to let fruits and nuts control how many kids we have.”

  “That’s probably wise.”

  Nicole glanced around the room. “Where’s James?”

  “He went to the men’s room. He’ll be back in a minute.”

  “How’s it going with you two? I haven’t even had a chance to ask.”

  Quinn snorted. “You’ve been a little busy, being the bride at this shindig.”

  “True. So how’s it going?”

  “Good.” She was lying. It wasn’t good. Only two weeks after she and James had returned home from India, he’d left for Moscow. They’d valiantly tried to stay in touch, and at first they did. But in the intervening three months, things got in the way. The time difference between Virginia and Moscow, his work, and her work and training meant the gaps between those moments when they managed to talk grew longer and longer. What she had suspected all along was true. Long-distance relationships sucked.

  “That sounds marginal.” Nicole zeroed in on her. “Spill.”

  Her friend could always see right through her. “He’s been traveling constantly for work, so this is the first I’ve seen him in a while.” She couldn’t exactly tell Nicole he was stationed in Moscow, so she fudged that part of the story. What she said next was the truth. “He flew in so late last night, we haven’t really had a chance to spend much time together yet.” The few minutes they’d eked out right before the ceremony had been surprisingly weird and strained. He’d seemed nervous and jumpy.

  “Yeah,” Nicole said. “I was bummed he wasn’t at the rehearsal dinner last night.”

  Brian, once again in his tuxedo, joined them and took his bride’s hand. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but you need to change before we cut the cake.” He smiled. “Or is it unpeel the cupcakes?”

  “I’ll go do that right now.” To Quinn, she said, “I gotta go, but I want to talk more about this later. Okay?”

  Quinn plastered on a happy face and took Nicole’s other hand in both of hers. “Don’t worry about it. It’ll be fine. You go change. I want one of those cupcakes.”

  Nicole grinned and squeezed Quinn’s hand before walking off with her groom.

  Quinn’s smile dropped away and she huffed a discouraged breath. She scanned the room and was about to go hang out at the librarians’ table when she felt a hand on the small of her back. Without even looking up, she knew it was James. His familiar scent told her. How much she’d missed it, missed him—it made her physically ache.

  “Can you leave for a few minutes and take a walk with me?” he asked.

  At the strain she heard in his voice, she looked up into his face. The seriousness she saw filled her with dread. This is it, she thought. He’s going to break up with me. The distance was just too much. Or worse, he’d met someone in Moscow and it was time for him to move on. She put on a brave face and said, “Sure.”

  He laced their fingers together and led her out of the hall and into the warm summer night. When they reached the edge of the beach at the back of the hotel, she kicked off her shoes and carried them as they walked across the sand toward the surf.

  They stopped where the water rolled up the wet sand and almost touched their feet. Quinn turned her head and gazed past the Santa Monica Pier to the park where she and Ja
mes had sat on a bench during their first date. It was an elegant irony their end would come so near the place of their beginning.

  She turned away and stared out at the breaking waves.

  James faced the vast darkness before them. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft. “I can’t do this anymore. It’s too hard.”

  As much as she’d tried to prepare herself, it didn’t help. Tears pooled in her eyes.

  She kept them forward, even when he looked at her and said, “I keep thinking about how it was in India, spending every moment of every day with you. It was perfect. And then boom, it’s over and I’m shipped off to Moscow. And now with our schedules, we can’t even find time to talk. I miss you so much. I’m miserable and I gotta think you are, too.” He stopped, took a breath, and blew it out. “Something has to change.”

  Trying to speak was useless. She couldn’t even swallow.

  “Because I can’t live like this anymore. All I think about is you. I think about how I want to make love to you and have you fall asleep with your head on my chest and wake up the next morning with you in my arms. Always. Forever.”

  “Wha—, um, what?”

  “But it’s not just about that,” he said, his words now tumbling out in a rush. “I want to sleep and eat and do laundry and watch TV and go on ops and hunt down bad guys with you. I want to do everything and nothing at all. Whatever. Always. With you. I love you. I want to marry you.”

  Speechless, she blinked at him.

  He took a small red box from his pocket and popped up the lid. Nestled in white velvet was a diamond ring flashing in the moonlight. He looked into her eyes. “Quinn, will you marry me?”

  She stared at him, trying to comprehend what he’d just said. In an instant, her mind cleared. He was asking her to spend the rest of her life with him. A life where she would wake up and see his face every morning regardless of the continent they were on. A life where they might go to the grocery store together one day and dodge bullets the next. A life where the only thing that truly mattered was that he would forever be by her side, and she by his. Of course there was only one answer. “Yes.” She smiled up at him. “Yes.”