by Elaine Nolan
A voice from her earpiece announced the actor, whom the paparazzi outside had been awaiting, and taller than she expected. The Irish Ambassador greeted him with enthusiasm. Word on the security grapevine said he’d gotten caught up in a human trafficking case while shooting the movie in Ireland, which heightened his profile even more. Even Swayne’s warm smile as they shook hands was friendlier than Leigh had ever seen on the women.
Leigh ignored them. The object of her interest arrived, announced again in her ear. As photogenic and high profile as the actor was, Nathan Rainey drew attention, and he loved it. He knew most of the attendees, greeting and shaking hands with most people he passed, and with an enthusiasm hard to fake. He reserved his most winsome smile for Swayne, outshining and outperforming the actor. The Senator’s didn’t return the sentiment. Something Leigh found worth noting, and caught Jake studying the interaction with as much interest as she had. Then he caught her watching him. His little smirk said he’d figured out part of why she was here. Only a part, she thought to herself, and smirked back, knocking his self-assurance back a notch. She played a game with him, moving to another vantage point, amused to see Jake search for her again, but it didn’t distract him for long. He tried not to let her get inside his head, as much as she tried blocking him from her mind.
She stood throughout the dinner, catching snatches of conversations from the guests, while listening to updates from Control, spotting Jake glance at her every time they did.
“As Gaelige, (in Irish)” she whispered into her discreet mic. “Sílim go bhfuil siad ag éisteacht. (I think they’re listening).” Jake’s eyes narrowed, and looks of concern flashed across the faces of the other US agents present. She smirked.
“Is ea, tá siad cinnte ag éisteacht (yes, they’re definitely listening),” she heard from another Irish colleague, and bit her bottom lip to stop the smirk from becoming a grin at Jake’s glower. Of the languages in his bag of tricks, Irish was not one.
They stayed in their own language for the rest of the evening, frustrating the US security further, but it was an early night for most of the attendees. It wrapped up, and Jake departed with the Senator without ever speaking a word to Leigh, and she pretended that it didn’t hurt.
CHAPTER 9
While Leigh didn’t make herself easy to find, she didn’t make it impossible either, and she picked one of his favourite coffee shops on Pennsylvania Avenue. She couldn’t have known. Personal safety relied on others not knowing your favourite places to hang out. As she sat at the back, he noted the pen in her left hand, her non-dominant one, the crease on her brow, her hunched shoulders and recognised it as the deep place she disappeared into when consumed with finding a solution.
Obsession was a better word for it. It was one of a list of things that drove him away. Among other reasons, he’d grown tired of vying for her attention whenever she fell into this state. She sighed and threw her pen on the notebook, another sign he recognised. One of frustration this time. She sat back, stretched, then spotted him, and smiled, one of those rare smiles, innocent and genuine that reached her eyes. His resolve to be hard on her, to be tough, dissolved.
He ordered his coffee, and took the seat opposite her.
“I’ve missed you,” he admitted, and she smirked.
“Missed you too,” she answered. “But you were the one who left.”
“I know, but I couldn’t live with your decision.”
“It was less a decision, and more a surrender.”
“You could’ve continued to say no, to refuse it.”
“It’s not that simple, and you damn well know it.”
“No, I don’t. It’s not like you’d be scrambling for another job. You could’ve lived comfortably for the rest of your life.”
“On what, Jake? They froze my accounts, well, the Irish ones. They audited my company, and the companies I’d investments in. And you honestly think I’d shrink away to live out the rest of my days doing nothing?”
“Well… no.”
“They didn’t give me a choice Jake, and you’re just so black-or-white sometimes that you can’t see the other subtle shades that drive people, me most of all. They scared away my clients; they switched to other IT vendors. Now, maybe I could’ve established a private bondage club, but I live in a small town and no doubt the big nasty them would tie me up in obscure legislation for years.” He smirked.
“Pun intended?”
Her little shrug left him none the wiser.
“And I’ll be honest, Jake, I like this. This is a boy’s wet dream; it’s exciting and scary at the same time.”
“You’ve substituted one thrill for another, only this isn’t a lifestyle choice with a safe word to stop play.” He noticed her jaw clenching.
“I know that.”
“This thrill will get you killed, because it’s turning into an addiction. And that is your weakness, your personality. You’ll put yourself into bigger and greater danger, until one day, you either lose yourself in the game, or you lose your life. That’s why I left, because I didn’t want to watch it happen, standing by, knowing I couldn’t stop it, or make you see sense. And I didn’t want to pick up the pieces, if there were any pieces left. You accuse me of having such polarising views, but you need a long hard look in the mirror sweetheart.”
“Yeah, the army psychologist said the same thing.”
“Good to hear I’m not the only one who’s concerned.”
“I didn’t say it concerned him.” There it was again, her flippant response that always exasperated him, telling him her defences were up, and getting ready for a fight.
“Well I am,” he answered.
She acknowledged it with a tight smile but stayed quiet, not wanting to start another fight despite her natural reaction to rebel against him, and this was going well, so far. She’d expected an ear bashing and he didn’t disappoint, but his restraint surprised her. He’d spoken much harsher words before he left. She surprised him at her acceptance of his little speech. She spat fire back at him the last time.
“And you’re back with Swayne,” she tried deflecting the conversation back to a lighter tone, and he let her.
“Yeah, as soon as she heard I was back, she gave me a job.”
“Personal security?”
“Intelligence Officer.”
For the sake of peace, she bit back a snippy retort on how he had no problem returning to this world, and he knew it, knew how his double standard annoyed her. But he wasn’t above pulling out the experience and training cards if she tried to object. Again, she held her peace.
“So, what brings you here?” he asked.
“Software updates,” she answered, and he nodded.
“And the real reason?” he pushed.
“Software updates.”
“You’re sticking to the official story, huh?”
“It’s the only story I have.”
“Really? Do software engineers often double-job as security officers.”
“They were short staffed. I helped. I have experience working the door of the night club at my hotel.”
“Cut the bull, Leigh.” She gave him her WTF expression and gesture, a genuine reaction causing him to doubt himself.
“It’s no different from the set up in Shannon, on-site coding on dedicated servers, to prevent, or at least minimise, the threat of hacking and getting access to the visas.”
“With Swayne’s regeneration initiatives getting started, visa applications have slowed,” he told her.
“There’s still hacking attempts on our systems.”
“If you say so.”
“Want me to show you the stats?”
“No thanks, you’re good at making stats prove your point.” He saw the flare of anger in her eyes, but to his ongoing surprise, she continued to hold back on an argument, again making him question his own motives and suspicions.
“Why were you watching Nathan Rainey?” he asked, revealing his own secrets.
“He
’s pretty. Why were you following him?”
“He’s not my type.”
“You were still following him.”
“Was I?”
“Jake, we can do this all day.” She rested her elbows on the table and leaned towards him. “Or we make it a game, and I make you tell me, whip you for it.” She’d lowered her voice and tone, making it seductive. Damn, she still stirred his passions. He leaned in, close enough to smell her perfume, close enough to kiss.
“Or just tell me the truth,” he taunted, teased.
She sat back and laughed, a soft and genuine laugh, and a knot he didn’t realise existed, ached.
“I’ve missed this,” she admitted, and he nodded. “Rainey pinged my radar when I ran background checks on the Embassy’s guest list,” she confessed, hoping her admission softened his stance. “I wanted to get a measure of him. Why were you following him?”
“Because you were. I was his security detail for the evening.”
“Oh?”
“Yup.”
“Why the need for a security detail? And why the secrecy for it?”
“Rainey’s a new appointment to Swayne’s advisory council and secured large international investors into her Great American Rebuild programme. He’s got friends in influential places.”
“Is he dirty?”
“Not that we found.”
“Doesn’t mean he’s not.”
“We were thorough.”
“But…”
“Don’t.” His tone grew abrupt. “If you continue on this path, you and I will find ourselves on opposite sides. I don’t want that. I don’t think you do either. Besides, why’s a software engineer, double jobbing as a security guard, doing background checks?” He sat back and crossed his arms, a smirk twitching at the corner of his mouth.
“I was bored. They gave me something to do,” she fired back. This time he didn’t buy it, and he let the smirk loose.
“How’s Karl?” he asked. The question threw her but she recovered.
“Nothing stopping you from calling him to find out,” she answered, and he knew he’d hit a nerve, if not the real reason for her being here.
“Now that’s the problem. I tried to call him, after he called me, and left a weird cryptic voice message,” he said, watching for her reaction. “Where is he?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “He left by the time I got back from boot camp.”
“Boot camp?”
“Army training.”
“I’m aware of what it is. Stop deflecting, why were you at… Never mind,” he muttered, finding himself growing annoyed again at how deep into this world she was descending. “Is he the real reason you’re here?” From his tone, denying it or deflecting the question threatened to spark an argument, so she nodded instead.
“There’s a new Director at Huntington, she sent me to find him after he phoned there too. And he wasn’t to leave Ireland?”
“No, he wasn’t. Arrest warrants for him still stand everywhere around the world, but once he behaved himself and stayed put, no one could touch him.”
“You knew?”
“Of course I did. Who do you think convinced him to take the deal? It saved his life and secured his freedom. You need to go home, Leigh.”
“What did his message say?”
“It was a garbled mess. You need to return to Ireland.”
“Not until I find him. What was his message?”
“I told you.”
“Don’t bullshit me. I need to find him.”
“Why?” He feared the answer, afraid she cared more for Karl than for him.
“Director Walters said he left to keep me safe.”
“Take the hint, Leigh, go home, stay safe.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Won’t, you mean. His message was incoherent. It came in and out, garbled. If I couldn’t decipher it, you sure as hell won’t.”
He fished his phone from inside his jacket pocket and frowned at the screen. “I have to go. And if you won’t go home, stay the hell away from Rainey,” he told her, answering the call on his way out.
CHAPTER 10
He pulled his coat collar up against the chilly mist and pressed the phone to his ear.
“Wo zur Hölle bist du (Where the hell are you)?” he asked in German.
“Union Station,” Karl answered.
“Can you get to Georgetown? There’s a clean apartment there.” He gave him the address.
“Can you bring medical supplies?”
“How bad?”
“Gunshots.”
Jake sighed, but not surprised. They both ended the call before there was a possibility of someone pinging it. Sometimes old habits never died. He picked up supplies along the way, including a sewing kit, and two different vodkas; the cheap stuff for sterilising equipment and cleaning wounds, and a more palatable bottle for numbing the pain or steadying nerves, depending on who did the stitching. That depended on Karl’s condition.
Jake’s initial assessment was Karl was a complete mess as he carried him into the apartment. He then made a more thorough examination of his wounds. Karl pushed back his hoodie revealing bloody, matted hair that had more grey in it than Jake remembered.
They exchanged no words. This was not the time for idle chat, and Jake didn’t need the distraction while he did his best to stitch Karl’s wounds.
“You need a doctor, or a hospital,” he said, knowing it was a waste of time. There’d been times in his own past, while in Europe, where seeking help was just as dangerous. “What are you caught up in?”
“Lee.”
“Leigh’s here.”
“Scheisse. (Shit)” Karl blurted out more explosively than he intended as he struggled to sit. “Not her, her father.”
“Why do we always end up taking the brunt from his shit-storms? How is he still causing this much trouble from the grave?”
“Why is she here?”
“I didn’t get the full story, but part of it is to find you.”
“Convince her to go back.”
“I tried. If I dig my heels in any more, she’ll know I’m hiding something.”
“She’s too like her father sometimes,” Karl confirmed Jake’s fears, then took a swig from the decent vodka and lay back, gritting his teeth against a groan. “You saw her? How long has she been here?”
“Only a couple of days, and I left her just as you called,” Jake answered.
“Did she follow you? You know she’s capable of doing it, but she can’t be a part of this.”
“She didn’t follow me. Question is, were you? Union Station is busy, but you’re not exactly inconspicuous, leaving a blood trail behind you.” He wasted his words, Karl was unconscious. Jake checked for a rise in temperature in the unconscious man, any hint of an infection that could hamper his recovery, but found none.
He cleaned up, removing any medical waste or trace of his surgical attempts. He kept the two bullets he’d dug out of Karl, intending to get them analysed. If he was lucky, they’d give him answers. He left bottles of water, the cheap vodka and pre-packaged food on the coffee table, and in line of sight for when Karl woke up, along with a new burner phone, programmed with Jake’s number. He searched Karl’s clothing for the other phone, but didn’t find it, guessing Karl tossed it after their call. He wasn’t taking any chances, leaving Jake to wonder just how big this shit-storm was. And did he want to be in the middle of it?
The more he’d researched Lee senior, added to what he’d found out from Karl, the less he liked the man. Admired him, yes, but only from an operations standpoint. He’d been an excellent strategist and a well-regarded operative. Otherwise, he was too dangerous in Jake’s estimation and Karl was once again paying the price for Lee’s actions.
Jake couldn’t stay. Someone would notice his absence, and question it, and he had this pesky problem of aiding a known terrorist, providing him with an official safe place to stay. He cleaned himself up, and grabbed the bag of
trash on his way out, to discard it in a dumpster a few blocks away. In this game, it paid to be careful. Where Karl and Lee Harte were concerned, he doubted he’d ever be careful enough.
CHAPTER 11
The green badger was out of the coral packet.
That was it, Karl’s coded message to Huntington. It made no sense. An internet search was unlikely to provide answers. Code words were unlikely to be in the public domain, even if the statute of limitations on official documents expired. With Top Secret classifications, the British Home Office was under no obligation to release anything, no matter how old the documents.
Still, in the spirit of investigation, she searched on the internet. It yielded a result, a list of new businesses and websites, but nothing from the time Karl or her father were active. It had to be from that time. Otherwise, why else did he phone them?
Walters’ team dug through the archives at Huntington, but with little to go on, details were scarce, and they didn’t have a list of code words filed away. Walters instructed them to start with Lee’s files, working back from the time of his last case, but after a week, Karl’s message remained a mystery. The only solution was to find him. Easier said than done, Leigh thought, knowing he’d evaded capture for over a decade. He’d only revealed himself and his location to her, trusting her not to bring the authorities to his door. And if he left Ireland to keep her safe, she knew she’d never find him on her own. But he’d contacted Jake. His onetime nemesis. How odd. Jake claimed he only left a voicemail. That meant a mobile phone connection, and that was traceable.
She worked from her assigned desk in a closet-sized office, dubbed the Crow’s Nest, in the Embassy’s attic. Using their secure servers, she accessed mobile service providers in the DC area, and tried the number she had for Jake. Nothing showed up, and another twinge of an ache hit her in the midriff. He’d changed his number upon returning to the States. Why, she wondered. Was it to make sure she’d never be able to contact him again? Did he resent her and her decision that much?
