Plan to Fail

by Perry Kirkpatrick

  Emily took the case soberly, popping it open and removing the smaller plastic holder encasing the bug. “Did they let you pick that codename—Gremlin?” she asked.

  “That’s classified,” he said, but she could hear the smile in his voice.

  Carefully, she transferred the small bump of a device to its hiding place beneath the tip of her painted fingernail. “I put it under my left index finger,” she told Brent. “It’s less likely to get bumped if it’s on my non-dominant hand.”

  He nodded but said nothing. He looked very focused as he pulled forward and stopped their car. Emily rolled her shoulders and closed her eyes briefly.

  Time to get into character as a slightly snobby book nerd.

  Brent got out and handed the keys to the waiting valet. He then opened Emily’s door and offered her his hand. “Ready, Sweetheart?”

  Emily swallowed and schooled her features into a non-surprised smile.

  If we’ve been dating for a year like our cover story says, of course he’d call me something like that.

  “Yes.”

  She stepped out, and the valet closed the door behind her. Brent offered her his right arm, and she took it a little gingerly.

  In her ear, the micro radio came to life as she heard Brent transmit under his breath. “North Pole, make a note that Sherlock is now Sweetheart.”

  She glared sideways at him. He wore an amused smirk.

  “Really, Brandon?”

  “Hey, it fits the occasion.”

  At the door, they presented their registration confirmation and were ushered through metal detectors. Emily felt, rather than saw, Brent tense just slightly before entering, and she knew he must be carrying some kind of concealed weapon. She felt a little safer knowing that. Nothing set the detectors off, and they made their way into the ballroom.

  Chapter 6

  GLITTERING WOMEN AND expensively-suited men dotted the room, conversing in small knots over champagne. Brent and Emily mingled among the guests, blending in the best they could, making small talk but avoiding getting deeply involved in any conversations.

  “I have eyes on Gremlin,” Brent said quietly, his voice filtering through Emily’s ear.

  Emily followed his gaze to a man with slightly rumpled salt and pepper hair tugging uncomfortably at his collar and looking at his watch. Emily glanced at the program she’d been handed when they arrived. The official start-time of the event hadn’t come yet, but the man seemed anxious for the thing to begin and be over with.

  She wondered why he was here if he so obviously didn’t like dressing up and socializing.

  Brent walked them toward the man, slowly, leisurely. They couldn’t exactly make a beeline for him and then claim knocking his glasses off was an accident.

  Gremlin reached into his pocket and withdrew a phone that was buzzing. A look of relief washed over his face, and he strode swiftly toward the room’s exit. Just after he vacated the space, a middle-aged woman rushed into it, nearly colliding with Emily.

  Frowning at the Gremlin’s retreating back, the woman turned toward Emily, speaking rapidly. “I’m so terribly sorry for nearly upsetting you there. In a rush and not paying attention—so silly of me.”

  Emily blinked at the outpouring of words. “Please don’t worry about it. I often get caught up in my own head, myself.” Glancing around, she realized Brent had melted away into the crowd, and a moment later, she heard him mutter in her earpiece, “Gremlin on the move. I’m following.”

  “Didn’t you have a nice young man with you a moment ago? Did he run off on you, too?” the woman asked, shaking her blond head as if Emily had already answered. “It’s rough when we’re the real lovers of literature and our men are—less so. Ah, well, here I am boring you with my troubles and I don’t even know your name. I’m Melissa Malachi. I’m the founder of Literary Starts.”

  That’s the charity this gala benefits. They provide books to children in lower-income areas. That must be why her name sounds familiar.

  “It’s delightful to meet you, Ms. Malachi. I’m Amelia Rosenburg.”

  “Oh, it’s Mrs. Malachi—I’ll claim Gregory even if he thinks Literary Starts is a tad boring. But please just call me Melissa. Oh, look at that! They’re ready to begin.”

  She craned her neck in an attempt to see over the crowd, no doubt looking for her non-bookish husband.

  “Well,” she said in a stage whisper, “it appears I’ll have an empty seat by me as there’s no sign of Mr. Malachi yet. Care to join me?”

  Emily glanced around for Brent, but didn’t see him. “That sounds wonderful, considering my date has deserted me as well. Brandon is a literary agent, so he’s interested—but distractible.”

  Wherever he was, Brent would hear her words and add this feature to the part he was playing, she was sure. The guy was a professional spy, so she had every confidence he would be smooth undercover.

  I hope I’m doing well so far, although we did miss our opportunity with the Gremlin. Hopefully he hasn’t left. Brent will tell me if he needs me.

  A woman in a skirt-suit spoke about the mission of Literary Starts. Emily listened with interest, both because her cover persona would, and because she found it interesting herself.

  Between speakers, Emily and Mrs. Malachi chatted, Emily answering her questions with bits of her cover story. She hoped it was okay for her to improvise, because the woman was very interested in her critiques of several classic children’s books, and she had to answer with her own thoughts. Mrs. Malachi pointed out the others on the board of Literary Starts, giving Emily the run-down of all the important people at tables nearby. “Oh, and over there is a journalist—such a nice girl. I must talk to her again later.” She indicated a gorgeous, tall blond sitting at the next table.

  Clapping along with the rest of the glittering crowd as the MC announced the success of several Phoenix-area programs, she nearly missed Brent’s quiet voice in her earpiece. “Gremlin headed back in. Get ready.”

  Emily glanced around the room and saw the man slip in at the back. A moment later, Brent appeared too.

  “Where are you?” he asked.

  “Sitting up near the front with a woman named Melissa Malachi,” Emily muttered quietly, glancing down at her hands in her lap and allowing her hair to curtain her face on either side. Hopefully nobody would notice she was talking to herself.

  “Seriously?” Brent asked.

  “Why?”

  Applause broke out around the room as the woman in the skirt-suit moved away from the podium.

  Brent didn’t answer, and Emily turned her head to look behind her once again. The Gremlin approached, looking right at her in mild confusion. Brent stood just beyond him with a slightly tense grin frozen on his face.

  Suddenly, a lightbulb went off in Emily’s mind and she could have smacked herself. The Gremlin was Gregory Malachi and she was sitting in his chair.

  “Oh!” she said, “I’m in your spot.” She jumped up and tried to vacate the chair just as he bent to speak to his wife. Somehow in the hasty movement, she caught his nose with her elbow.

  In slow motion, Emily watched his glasses fly off and land a short distance away as he clutched his nose. “Oh, gracious! I’m so, so sorry!” she cried, jumping back and throwing an apologetic grimace to Mrs. Malachi. Other guests were looking in their direction, and the blond journalist at the next table handed a handkerchief to Gregory Malachi who pressed it to his slowly bleeding nose.

  Good grief. Emily was mortified.

  Then she remembered. The glasses!

  She whirled, searching the floor for them. Someone nearby had already picked them up.

  Pretend, pretend, make excuses to get your hands on them for a few seconds...

  “Oh, no! Are they broken?” she reached for the glasses, and the stranger who’d found them willingly handed them to her. “No? Oh good. I’m so terribly sorry, Mr. Malachi. I try so hard not to be a klutz, but sometimes—” she pattered, speaking rapidly while making a gr
eat show of cleaning the glasses lenses with one of the pristine white napkins on the table.

  Concealing the movement with a fold of the napkin, she hooked her left index fingernail on the nose pad of the glasses and pressed hard. When she lifted her finger, she felt the tiny bug disconnect from its hiding place under her fingernail. A quick glance showed her that it had, indeed adhered to the nose pad and was nearly invisible.

  I actually did it!

  Still chattering apologetically, she handed the glasses back to the Gremlin and took a step backward. He placed them back on his face and looked at her closely before shaking his head.

  “Kids these days!” Brent said in a gruff voice in her ear piece. “When I was a youngster, I’d never have knocked a man’s glasses plumb off his face! Humph! Still, it’s the only exciting thing that’s happened at this event, so far!”

  Emily covered her mouth to hide the fact she was speaking. “Seriously?” she whispered. “You’re doing a voice-over of the poor guy? Also, if you make me bust up and break cover, you’re the one in trouble, not me.”

  She heard him snicker.

  Mrs. Malachi, assured her husband was going to be fine, left his side and approached Emily, looking concerned. “Are you all right, my dear?”

  Emily dropped her hand from her mouth, realizing she probably looked sick to her stomach. “I—I—well—ah...”

  Brent jogged up to her, then, putting an arm around her shoulders and edging her away. “She does look a little pale, doesn’t she? Let’s get you some fresh air, Amelia. Don’t worry about her, ma’am. She gets terribly flustered, but she’ll be all right in a bit.”

  “Flustered. Yes,” Emily muttered, resisting the urge to shrug his arm away from her shoulders.

  “Nicely done, Sweetheart,” someone at North Pole said in the earpiece. “We’re getting a good signal from your bug.”

  “You did do a good job, Sweetheart,” Brent whispered as they hurried out of the room. “Didn’t even need my help! Maybe next time, don’t bloody the guy’s nose?”

  Emily couldn’t help herself. She elbowed him.

  Chapter 7

  “WHAT DO WE DO NOW?” Emily asked. She and Brent stood just outside a set of double-doors leading into the ballroom. Applause filtered through, followed by chatter starting back up as the last speech ended.

  Brent shrugged. “Once the bug is planted and the team back at North Pole has confirmed it’s working, we are pretty much done with this part of the mission.”

  “Amelia!”

  With a start, Emily remembered that was her. Melissa Malachi hurried toward her.

  Hopefully she’s not mad that I bloodied her husband’s nose. A lawsuit is the last thing I need right now... I’d never afford it! Oh, that reminds me! I left the check for dog-sitting in my pocket yesterday. I need to deposit that. Maybe that’s what I felt I was forgetting earlier.

  Snapping out of the thoughts about her real life, Emily focused on the woman.

  “Feeling better now, I hope?”

  “Oh, yes. I was just so embarrassed. Is your husband all right?”

  “Quite,” the woman waved off her concern. “His nose didn’t even bleed that badly. I wanted to thank you.”

  “F-for socking your husband in the nose?”

  Mrs. Malachi laughed heartily. “It sounds terrible, I know, but this is the first time he’s sat with me all the way through one of these. Even though it was due to a nosebleed, it was nice having him here for the whole thing.”

  “Oh,” Emily shrugged. What was one supposed to say? You’re welcome for incapacitating him?

  Mrs. Malachi patted her arm. “I’m sorry. That’s awkward, isn’t it? Let me make it up to you. Do you enjoy art?”

  “Uh, well, I—”

  “I’ve just offered to play tour guide to a visitor here at the gala; we made plans to visit the Phoenix Art Museum tomorrow around 10 in the morning. Please say you’ll join us. This woman is a journalist—I think I pointed her out to you? She is very interested in promoting literacy among the young. I’m sure you’d enjoy the conversations we’re bound to have—you being a children’s book reviewer and all. I loved what you said earlier about Charlotte’s Web.”

  “Oh, well—” Emily paused in the midst of trying to find a polite way to decline. Her mission was over, after all. Within a few minutes, she’d be right back to being Emily Abbott, coffee barista.

  But North Pole spoke in her ear. “Sweetheart, please accept Mrs. Malachi’s offer. Until we know for sure what’s going on with the Gremlin, we’d like to maintain contact with either him or a member of his family. We’ll make arrangements for someone else to cover your shift at Sunrise Coffee.”

  Swallowing the answer she had been about to give, Emily nodded. “That sounds wonderful; I’ll be there!”

  “Excellent!” Mrs. Malachi clapped her hands. “I look forward to visiting you again.”

  She glanced at Brent and extended her hand. “You are, of course, invited as well, although I don’t think we properly met. I’m Melissa Malachi.”

  “Brandon Orange, literary agent.”

  Emily nearly rolled her eyes. Who was woodenly reciting their cover story now?

  He neither confirmed nor denied the invitation, but the woman didn’t seem to notice.

  Someone else came over to speak with Mrs. Malachi, so they were able to gradually drift toward the exit. The valet brought their car around at Brent’s request. Opening her door, Brent waved her in. “You’re carriage awaits, Sweetheart.”

  Others were around, so Emily waited until he entered the driver’s side and closed the door. “You’re a goofball, Nighthawk, you know that, right?”

  “I’ve been told that before.” He revved the engine and shot her a grin.

  “What do I have to do to get a new codename?”

  He looked pensive for a moment. “The prompting of a new codename for you is a dark and mysterious mystery. Nobody knows what triggers it.”

  Emily rolled her eyes. “Well, let me know when you figure it out.”

  “Nighthawk and Sweetheart returning to North Pole,” he said, pulling the fancy car away from the curb. North Pole acknowledged his transmission.

  “Well, we’re lucky Stinkerdog’s owners are back in town,” Emily said. She enjoyed that it was now Brent’s turn to look utterly flummoxed.

  “Stinkerdog?”

  “Well, her name is really Francesca, but she’s an unpleasant, yappy creature, so I privately call her Stinkerdog.”

  Brent nodded approvingly.

  You would approve of a nickname like that.

  “I look in on her and feed her while her owners are out of town. If I had to go feed her now, I’d get the Stinkerdog stink-eye. She doesn’t like dinner late.”

  “I didn’t know you were pet-sitting.”

  “Oh, that wasn’t in my file?” Emily was surprised. “Yeah, I do it when I can. Extra income is always good. I was able to put most of my latest Sunrise Coffee check toward rent and the college fund. Stinkerdog is paying for my groceries—at least, as soon as I take the check to the bank.”

  She glanced at the time displayed on the car’s ultra-fancy dashboard computer and grimaced.

  “Tomorrow, I guess. Bank’s closed now.”

  “Sorry about that.”

  Emily shrugged.

  IT WAS DARK WHEN EMILY finally arrived home. She’d giggled most of the way back from North Pole, thanks to the ridiculousness of the smart car she drove. She climbed the stairs to her second-floor apartment and glanced over the railing at the parking lot. The car looked like a toy parked among the cars of her neighbors.

  Shaking her head, she inserted her key into the lock and then froze.

  Did I leave lights on when I left this morning?

  It seemed like an eternity ago, but she was fairly sure she hadn’t.

  Wincing at the slight scraping sound the key made as she stealthily withdrew it from the lock, she backed away from her door, wishing she could se
e through the blinds and know whether someone was in her home.

  Since meeting a spy, I’ve gotten so paranoid!

  Fumbling in her purse, she withdrew her flip phone and then Brent’s encryptor. Connecting the two devices with shaking hands, she dialed his number. He answered on the second ring.

  “Emily?”

  “Hi, um... I’m sorry to bother you,” she whispered, “but I think someone’s in my—”

  The door of her apartment jerked open with a bang, and light from inside illuminated her.

  “Emily! I thought that was you! Why are you lurking around outside?” A familiar figure stood in her doorway.

  “Emily?” Brent said over the phone. “Emily, are you okay?”

  A note of panic in his voice made her say quickly, “I’m—I’m fine. My cousin just scared the living daylights out of me. I’m really sorry to have bothered you.”

  She disconnected the call and stepped into her apartment. “Beth! Hi!” She plopped her purse down on the kitchen counter and turned to hug her cousin. “I knew I was forgetting something! I totally forgot you were passing through town today—” And that I told you where to find the spare key! “I’m so sorry I wasn’t home to welcome you! When did you get here?”

  “Not too long ago, really. I took a nap on your couch—hope you don’t mind—and went ahead and did all your laundry and swept and stuff. Didn’t get to scrubbing the shower yet.” Her cousin shrugged, flipping her straight, blond hair behind her shoulders.

  Emily blinked. It sounded like she had been there quite a while, after all. Beth was obviously still a certifiable neat freak, even cleaning things that were already clean. It sounded like she’d kept busy and even enjoyed it.

  “Oh, well—thank you!” Emily said.

  “I didn’t realize you worked such long hours now! But hey, I haven’t eaten yet, have you?”

  Emily shook her head, mentally cataloging what was in her fridge.

  There’s not much to eat since I need to cash the check before I can go grocery shopping.