Plan to Fail

by Perry Kirkpatrick

  He settled into her sofa with a patient look on his face.

  “You don’t believe me.” Emily shook her head. “I mean it, Brent! I’ll be out in five minutes or less.”

  “Yep!”

  Snorting in what she figured was probably an unladylike fashion, Emily hurried to her room, shutting and locking the door behind her. Opening the backpack, she withdrew the patterned fabric she’d seen before. It was an airy blouse—the perfect weight for the heat. She held it up to the bright light filtering around the blinds over her bedroom window and discovered, to her delight, it wasn’t sheer like so many lightweight fabrics were.

  Yay! I won’t need to wear a second layer under it! Derick is a genius who understands Arizona heat. I will have to write him a thank-you card.

  A black skirt was next, and Emily immediately fell in love with it. The fabric felt high-end, and it was well-tailored, skimming over her hips, falling mostly straight to right around her knees, but flaring just ever so slightly at the last minute. Grinning to herself, she did Derick’s range-of-motion tests. The outfit performed perfectly. She’d be able to run unhindered if the apocalypse decided to begin while she was visiting the museum.

  And apparently I have all the right foods for the apocalypse, too. I’m set!

  Peering into the backpack, she withdrew a pair of shoes and very nearly melted. They were soft, foldable ballet flats like she’d kept in her clutch at the gala, only these were a deep, vintage red.

  “Wow,” she breathed, staring at them.

  The creak of her couch in the living room snapped her out of the shoe-induced trance, reminding her she’d promised to only be gone for a real five minutes, not a woman’s five minutes. Slipping the shoes on her feet, she picked up the backpack and headed out of her room.

  Brent sat up quickly, having just kicked back on the couch. He checked his watch and raised his eyebrows, regarding her with an impressed look.

  She laughed at him. “What is it? My timeliness? Or Derick’s terrific taste in shoes?”

  “Well, you do look great, but it’s definitely the timeliness.”

  “I told you I could do it.”

  “You did; it’s true.”

  “To be fair, that didn’t include hair and makeup.”

  Brent got up and squinted at her face. “Oh, yeah, I guess not. I thought he sent some makeup...?”

  Emily peered into the bottom of the backpack. “Oh!” She had missed the small makeup case and black leather clutch purse. Removing them from the backpack, she unzipped the case to find travel-sized blush, mascara, and lip gloss in colors that suited her perfectly. “He really did think of everything. I mean, I have a little of my own makeup, but it’s the cheapest of the cheap. I wonder if nicer brands actually looks different...”

  Brent shrugged. “Who knows? I certainly don’t!”

  Emily sat on the couch and, using the tiny mirror included with the blush, began working on her face. Brent, bringing the backpack with him, sat at the other end. Emily couldn’t quite see what he was doing, since she was focused on the tiny mirror while applying mascara. She jumped when a metallic melody emanated from the other end of the couch.

  Glancing over, she saw Brent had booted up a smartphone.

  “Sorry to startle you,” he said, his eyes on the screen. Then he glanced at her and winced. “Yeah. Um. Really sorry.”

  Worried, Emily looked back at her reflection in the tiny mirror. A dark mascara streak decorated her right eyelid. “Lovely.” She got up and washed the mistake off at the kitchen sink.

  After fixing the mascara, Emily declared her face done and moved to braiding her brown hair. Brent slipped the smartphone into her clutch and explained, “This fits better with your cover identity than a flip phone would. It also contains special tracking software so North Pole can keep an eye on your whereabouts since I won’t be with you this time.”

  “You’re not taking Mrs. Malachi up on the invitation to come along?” Nervousness sprang up inside her.

  Brent shook his head. “We’ll be monitoring everything, and if there’s even the slightest hint that something is wrong, I’ll come get you,” he said earnestly.

  “Thanks, Brent, that makes me feel better.” She took a deep breath and smiled.

  Producing a familiar black case from his backpack, Brent opened it to reveal an earpiece. “I’ll be with you—right inside your ear—the whole time.”

  Emily laughed and tipped her head so he could position the micro radio in her ear canal.

  “I’m certainly no expert, but are you sure a plain braid fits with the rest of your outfit?” Brent asked.

  “Wait for it!” she said, hopping up off the couch again and heading to the bathroom. She pinned the braid up in a more elegant, loosely-coiled style. Seeing the final outfit in the mirror, she couldn’t help but whisper to herself, “I love business casual!”

  Brent chuckled in the living room.

  Oh, yeah. The earpiece.

  Chapter 11

  EMILY ENTERED THE COOL lobby of the Phoenix Art Museum, glad to have found parking and glad to be out of the heat. She was a little early, and a glance around the area told her she’d arrived first. Her eyes were immediately drawn to a low-hung, spherical chandelier in the middle of the lobby. She circled it slowly, admiring the way it sparkled.

  “There you are, Amelia!”

  That’s right; I’m Amelia today.

  Melissa Malachi approached, beaming and waving. “Nadia should be here any minute. This is going to be delightful: see some great art and talk literature and literacy. She is hoping her articles on Literary Starts will inspire something similar in Russia. Such a lovely thing; don’t you think?”

  Nadia? Russia? I didn’t realize this journalist was Russian!

  “Of course, I’m sure with your expertise on such topics, we’ll have so much talking to do. Nadia is open to going somewhere for coffee after we take in the museum, and—I can hardly believe he agreed—my husband will be joining us! He’s usually less than interested in conversations about books. You’ll come along, too?”

  Emily’s head was spinning. Why would Gremlin agree to meet up to talk books with a Russian journalist? Unless...

  She forced a smile to stay on her face instead of the shocked expression she otherwise would have worn.

  Don’t get carried away, Emily, she chided herself. Remember you’re not some TV show detective! It could be a big, fat NOTHING.

  As if in response to her thoughts, Brent’s voice spoke in her ear. “Sweetheart, this is North Pole. We have not heard Gremlin say anything regarding this coffee meeting. Not even when a coworker asked him about his lunch-break plans before our bug went dark. Can you get her to confirm?”

  Emily gathered her wits. “I’d love to come along! You say your husband will be coming, too? Has he really been converted?”

  Mrs. Malachi laughed. “It seems having to sit through the gala presentations impressed him more than I thought! He texted me earlier and asked if he could join us. He is taking a long lunch and driving over from work.”

  “That’s wonderful; I’m happy for you!”

  “Good work,” Brent’s voice said. “He definitely omitted that when talking to his coworker. Seems sneaky, don’t you think?”

  Emily spotted Nadia the moment she walked through the door, recognizing her from the gala. The woman was tall and striking with straight blond hair and crystal blue eyes. Her clothing spoke of being from some sleek European line. She walked straight to them and shook Mrs. Malachi’s hand.

  “Thank you for offering to be my guide. I cannot express my gratitude.” Her English was refined, and carried just enough of an accent to be beautifully exotic.

  “You’re so welcome, my dear. Nadia, this is Amelia Rosenberg, the New York children’s book reviewer I was telling you about. I’m sure if you have questions about trends in American literature or our publishing and reading habits, she can be most helpful.”

  Emily fought the urge to gulp.


  I can?! That’s a far cry from remembering my thoughts on Charlotte’s Web!

  The blond woman extended her hand, and smiled dazzlingly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Rosenberg. I am Nadia Gapon.” Her gaze pierced Emily, making her want to squirm. This woman was intense.

  “Please, call me Amelia,” she said, shaking her hand. “I like to keep things informal.”

  Mrs. Malachi beamed. “Shall we?” she asked, motioning them toward the visitors desk. She purchased three tickets, insisting it was her treat.

  As they turned from the desk, Emily’s gaze fell on the spherical chandelier again, sparking an idea.

  “We should get a selfie—well, more of a groupie—” she giggled, “in front of this chandelier... I’m so in love with it!”

  Mrs. Malachi looked amused. “I’m afraid I don’t know how to take selfies, but if you’d like to do the honors, I will gladly be a part of it. The chandelier really is striking.”

  Nadia shook her head politely. “You two go ahead.”

  Yes, but you’re the one I really need in this photo, Ms. Gapon. I need Brent to tell me if you are who you say you are.

  Acting disappointed, Emily tipped her head. “Come on, Nadia—you’re gorgeous. I mean, really—why aren’t you a model instead of a journalist? Come over here and put our smiles to shame!”

  The Russian woman began shaking her head again, but Emily pressed her point before she could solidify her answer.

  “Come on... please? I solemnly promise not a single... single New York guy will see it. I won’t even Instagram it!” Good thing I know all the social media sites even though I personally own a dumb phone. She added, “My sister won’t believe me about how cool this chandelier is or about how gorgeous you are without photo proof. Surely you know about skeptical siblings?”

  Inwardly, Emily winced at the crazy tale she was spinning—not only was she an only child in real life, but her cover identity had said nothing about a sister. She hoped it was okay to improvise that much. North Pole would be listening to everything through the micro radio in her ear, so hopefully they would make notes about everything she improvised. She didn’t imagine it would matter, but it still made her uneasy.

  It’s not like I’m trained to do this. I’m just a barista who loves stories.

  Nadia’s resolve cracked, and she joined them in front of the chandelier. Emily flashed her an excited smile and withdrew the smartphone Brent had brought her. Luckily she’d seen people use similar models before, so she knew how to bring up the camera. It took a few tries to get the lighting to adjust. The camera wanted to focus on the bright chandelier behind them, leaving the three women as dark silhouettes.

  That kind of defeats the purpose.

  She finally got it to focus on them rather than the chandelier.

  “Perfect!” she said, beaming.

  “Now, let’s see some art!” Mrs. Malachi led the way, and they followed. Emily typed Brent’s number into the messaging app and attached the photo. Pausing a moment, she added a message:

  Hey, sis! Haven’t even gotten far into the Phx Art Museum and already enjoying the company and this chandelier. Don’t suppose we can find one for my apartment? Probably wouldn’t fit, huh. :-P

  “You don’t have your sister’s number saved in your phone?” Nadia asked, raising a perfect eyebrow in suspicion.

  Thinking fast, Emily glanced up at her with a grin she hoped didn’t look forced—or scared. “Don’t have to!” She tapped the side of her head. “Numbers just stick in here.”

  The Russian woman nodded slightly but didn’t say anything.

  “Feel free to let her see the reply,” Brent said in the earpiece.

  After a moment, the phone vibrated, and Emily read Brent’s text.

  No way would that thing fit. It’s rad tho. Also... WHAT?! You didn’t tell me you knew a model!?!!! Seriously, I wish I looked that good. Also, you look super short next to her. :-P

  Oh, Brent. You’re a hoot.

  Emily laughed and tipped the screen toward Nadia who read the text with almost too much interest. After a moment, she laughed lightly.

  “Sisters, right?” Emily said, rolling her eyes.

  They wandered slowly through the exhibits, admiring the various works of art, disagreeing over what some pieces meant, and thoroughly enjoying themselves. Emily was surprised at how the tension she felt over being undercover was beginning to dissipate. She felt fairly comfortable in the role of Amelia Rosenberg, book reviewer.

  They didn’t end up talking about books or publishing trends at all, to her relief. She did comment upon reaching the fashion exhibit, “If only the people doing covers for historical novels would study this exhibit—I can’t tell you how many times I shake my head over the lack of accuracy on some of those covers.”

  It was while they were admiring the evolution of fashion that Brent’s voice spoke in Emily’s ear again. “Sweetheart, this is North Pole. We ran your photo through facial recognition, and—well—we have a problem.”

  Chapter 12

  “ISN’T IT INCREDIBLE that everything evolves?” Nadia mused, and Emily couldn’t tell if she was speaking to herself or to her. “Life, societies, even the very clothes people wear.”

  “Mm-hm,” Emily murmured, processing what Brent had just said in her earpiece.

  “Would you enjoy dressing this way, Amelia? I would find it—constrictive, I’m afraid.” The Russian woman directed her question at Emily, but studied her watch. “New things are so much more freeing, I’m finding.”

  “Uh...” Emily said, but Brent had begun speaking again and she wasn’t sure whether to answer Nadia or listen to Brent. “I agree with you,” she said quickly, hoping the distracted look on her face wouldn’t be noticed by the other women.

  Nadia gave her a sharp look, but quickly turned her attention back to Mrs. Malachi as the older woman said, “Ah, listen to this one!” She insisted on reading nearly every informational card aloud, making their progress quite slow.

  With the Russian woman’s attention diverted, Emily listened closely to Brent.

  “—And we just got a hit on facial recognition. Nadia Gapon, the journalist, is really Nadia Kubarev, FSB agent. Em—er—Sweetheart... she’s one of Russia’s top spies.”

  Emily’s skin chilled, and she slid a nervous glance over to the tall, blond woman. Nadia was bent close to Mrs. Malachi, reading the card along with her. She had her hands folded behind her, though, and Emily could see she was tapping a finger in a tiny indication that the woman was either impatient or nervous.

  If she’s one of Russia’s top spies, I’m betting on impatient. I’m the only nervous one here. I am so out of my league.

  “The fact that a Russian spy has made contact with the Gremlin’s wife is pretty good confirmation that he is indeed about to make a sale of the stealth tech plans—probably at this coffee meet-up,” Brent’s voice said. “Santa is asking if you’re comfortable staying inserted in the situation, but I want you to know if you’re not, we’ll pull you out right away. I’ll come get you myself.” Emily could hear the strain around the edges of Brent’s voice.

  “If you want to stay inserted, clear your throat slightly—we’ll hear it. If you want exfil, say you’re getting a headache.”

  Brent was quiet, giving her space to make her decision.

  This was dangerous; there was no doubt about it. If even the slightest hint of her cover being false came to Nadia’s attention, she’d know right away. The other woman was highly trained—of that Emily had no doubt.

  She swallowed hard.

  ICS probably had other ways they could track Nadia Kubarev’s movements for the rest of the day. They could likely find out which coffee shop they were to meet the Gremlin at and raid the place while they were there...

  Her whirling thoughts were interrupted by Nadia’s stifling a yawn.

  “Oh, pardon me,” the Russian woman said apologetically. “I’m afraid the time difference is still affecting me
. Perhaps we should see about that coffee you mentioned soon? I’m most curious to see if American coffee is enchanting as you make it sound.” She flashed an innocent, sincere smile at Mrs. Malachi.

  The older woman checked the time and nodded. “Of course, Nadia. I hadn’t realized so much time had gone by. I could spend all day in this place—so fascinating. We can find a good coffee place and relax and chat a bit. If we get there ahead of Gregory, that’s no problem. It gives us more time to discuss literature.”

  With a sudden flash of inspiration, Emily stepped closer and cleared her throat, signaling North Pole.

  She had to stay.

  “I don’t know if you’ve already settled on a place,” she said, “but I know of a wonderful little coffee shop not too far from here.”

  “Oh, really?” Mrs. Malachi said. “What’s the name?”

  “Sunrise Coffee,” Emily answered, praying Brent would catch the hint and do what she thought he might do. If they had Nadia and the Gremlin at Sunrise, it would be almost like having them on ICS’ own turf.

  “Ah, it’s not the one I had been thinking of—I haven’t been to this one,” Mrs. Malachi said, not saying no outright, but sounding a little doubtful.

  Ugh. I’m not a pushy person!

  But Amelia Rosenberg is. And I have to get them to Sunrise, so here we go.

  “Oh, but it’s definitely that ‘enchanting’ American coffee experience she’s looking for,” she insisted. “You’ll love it, Nadia,” she turned and looked the Russian woman in the eyes for the first time since learning her true identity.

  YIKES.

  The spy narrowed her eyes a little. “I thought you were from New York. Is this a large coffee company, then?”

  Emily thought fast, realizing she’d been talking like she knew the place well—because she did. She had to smooth over that mistake before Nadia became suspicious. “Oh, not at all! That’s what’s so nice about it. Apparently the owner is local and there are just a handful of locations. I got the whole story from the barista when I was there yesterday morning.”