ASSIGNMENT: DANGER
A SPYCO COLLECTION 4-6
CRAIG A. HART
S. J. VARENGO
CONTENTS
Also by Craig A. Hart
Assignment: Sydney
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Assignment: Alaska
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Assignment: Dublin
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Copyright © 2018 by Craig A. Hart
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
ALSO BY CRAIG A. HART
THE SPYCO NOVELLA SERIES
Assignment: Athens
Assignment: Paris
Assignment: Istanbul
Assignment: Sydney
Assignment: Dublin
THE SHELBY ALEXANDER THRILLER SERIES
Serenity
Serenity Stalked
Serenity Avenged
Serenity Submerged
ASSIGNMENT: SYDNEY
A SPYCO NOVELLA #4
1
The Boeing 747-400, sporting the Qantas kangaroo on the tail, coasted to a stop at the Sydney Kingsford Smith Airport. It had been a grueling fifteen-hour flight from LAX, most of it at night, and the passengers were more than ready to disembark into the midday Australian sun. James Burke was no exception. His legs, although he’d taken care to stretch them regularly, were stiff and the muscles burned.
Although feeling sore and irritable, Burke was looking forward to his stay in Sydney. It was one place he had not yet visited in his wide-ranging travels, and one that had long been on his list. Most of his globe-trotting, however, came because of his job as a top covert agent for SpyCo, an independent espionage organization with a global presence. This gave him little time for pleasure travel; he went to the place he was needed most. And, until now, that place had not been Sydney, Australia.
Burke impatiently waited in his seat while the other passengers milled, pushed, and squirmed their way down the aisle. He hated waiting, but he hated the press of the crowd even more. All that shoving, the pointy elbows, the heavy breathing—he’d just survived fifteen hours. He could wait a few more minutes.
At last the stream of passengers thinned enough for Burke to duck out of his seat, grab his carryon from the overhead luggage compartment, and make for the disembarkation tube. The captain and attractive flight attendant nodded at him as he left the plane.
“Thank you for flying Qantas,” they said in unison. Both seemed so pleasant, but Burke knew they probably cursed everyone the moment they were alone. At least, that was what he would do.
By the time he entered the terminal, the main area for disembarking passengers had mostly cleared. A few stragglers stayed behind, checking luggage, dealing with small children, or milling around in confusion. Burke walked directly toward the main entrance of the airport. Although he’d not been here before, Burke had developed a sort of sixth sense when it came to moving through airports. While most found them almost impossible to navigate, he could make his way with little error through any airport in the world. It was an unusual skill that came in handy remarkably often.
Burke reached the main lobby and looked around. He was expecting a man by the name of Archibald Withers, SpyCo’s main contact in Sydney. When he’d been shown a picture of Withers, Burke had thought he looked familiar, although he knew they’d never met. When he saw the man leaning against a support structure to the right of the main doors, Burke knew instantly why Withers seemed so familiar. The man looked exactly like Leslie Howard, the actor from Gone with the Wind and The Petrified Forest.
Withers saw Burke at almost the same instant. He walked forward, his hand outstretched and a wide smile on his face. “Ah, and you must be James Burke. A pleasure to meet you, old boy.” The man’s English accent was unrepentantly classic. His clothes were immaculate and positively shouted money, and likely a disproportionate amount of self-regard.
Holy shit, Burke thought. He not only looks like Leslie Howard, he is Leslie Howard!
“The pleasure is all mine,” Burke said, feeling shabby at his own flat and uncultured American sound.
“I’ve heard a great deal about you, although I must say you get into a lot more scrapes than we do in our neck of the woods.”
“There’s something to be said for the simple life,” Burke said.
Withers laughed. “Indeed. Well, all that changes today. Is that all the luggage you brought with you?” He pointed at Burke’s carryon.
Burke nodded. “I travel light.”
“A good plan. I try to do the same, but things just sort of keep popping into my bags.”
“Maybe I’m the one living the simple life,” Burke said. “A toothbrush, a comb, and a stick of deodorant are about all I need.”
“And underwear, I assume.”
“I just turn the ones I’m wearing inside out.”
Withers burst into laughter. “I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt and assume you’re joking.”
“You’ll never know.”
“I will if you start smelling up the place,” Withers said. He clapped Burke on the shoulder. “I hope you’re hungry. I’ve set us up at a café called The Grounds of Alexandria. Charming place. A bit like dining in a garden.”
Burke brightened at the news. “Sounds amazing. I’m so hungry I almost ate a small child who ventured too near my seat on the plane.”
Withers laughed again. “Capital! Oh, I’m going to like you, Mr. Burke. Come on, I have a car waiting outside.”
THE CAFÉ at the Grounds was thrumming with life when Burke and Withers arrived. Once they were seated and their drink orders had been placed, Burke noticed their dining spot was buffered by two empty tables, despite the obvious demand.
Withers saw the curious look and smiled. “I’m well-connected. A big fish in a little pond, I suppose you might say. Anybody who is anybody knows I don’t like nearby diners, especially when I have a guest.”
“And restaurants put up with this?”
“I have resources that serve to assuage the inconvenience of my eccentricities.”
“So you’re loaded.”
“Crudely put, but accurate. What SpyCo won’t pay for, I bankroll myself. Currying favor and a bit of notoriety around my home c
ity has proven useful on many occasions, both personal and professional.”
“I don’t know too many agents who thrive on notoriety.”
Withers gave Burke an enigmatic smile. “I know of you, Mr. Burke.”
“I’m known in the espionage community, but the man on the street wouldn’t know me from Jack Shit.”
“True enough. I’m aware my methods wouldn’t work for everyone, but I can assure you that my local fame provides an effective cover against suspicion. You said it yourself: what secret agent would seek and revel in celebrity? To wit, I’m to engage in a public debate in a day or so with another noted local personality, a scientist of some sort. It’s been my experience that operating in the public eye has garnered me far more intelligence than creeping about in the shadows.”
“Bold methodology, but whatever works, I guess.”
“I admit to a penchant for the flamboyant. I enjoy style, class, extravagance—and I’m not willing to cut it out of my life simply because of safety concerns.”
“In other words, you’d rather die than be average.”
Withers chuckled. “You have a charming way of reducing my verbosity to quaint simplicity.”
“Not too common for you, I hope?”
“Certainly not. As a man of leisure, at least when I want to be, I appreciate the quaint—from a distance. I simply don’t wish to adopt it. It’s like children. They can be amusing from a distance, but I’d never wish one on myself.”
“No paternal instincts?”
“Good Lord, I don’t think one of those things has ever been inside my house. And I intend to keep it that way. The idea of some wild little heathen running about the vases makes my skin crawl.”
“At least you know what you want. And don’t want.”
“Generally the former, certainly the latter.”
The drinks arrived and they put in their food orders. Burke ordered the Brekkie Burger, a bacon and fried egg delight sporting a brioche bun, with avocado, lettuce, cheese, tomato, relish, and mayo. Withers requested the House Smoked Salmon Rillettes, a bagel with wilted greens, free range poached eggs, and hollandaise sauce.
As they waited for the food and sipped their drinks, Burke noticed a man at the edge of the dining area. He wasn’t eating and had only a glass of water before him, from which he sipped absentmindedly at oddly regular intervals. He seemed to be attempting to appear casual, but if that was the case, he was remarkably bad at it.
“Do you have backup with you today?” Burke asked.
Withers looked confused. “Backup?”
“As in someone to watch your back.”
“I was hoping you would fill that role for now.”
“Then I think we have an uninvited guest.”
“A watcher?”
“Almost directly at your six. Near the edge of the café. He’s drinking water and pretending to relax.”
“But failing, I take it.”
“Badly.”
Withers stood up, straightened his suit jacket, and sighed. “I think I know what’s going on. I’ll go talk to him.”
“Don’t you think that’s a little risky?”
“He’s not an agent, Burke. He’s a fan, probably looking for an autograph. The price of fame, you know. I’ll go shoo him away.”
“Perhaps I should come with you.”
“No. You stay here. Your cover is tantamount to this assignment. We don’t want him getting an even better look at you.”
Burke shrugged. “Okay, but I want to go on record as saying this is a bad idea.”
“Objection noted.”
Withers turned and began walking toward the man. Before he’d taken more than two steps, the man saw him approaching and tensed up. He pushed the glass of water to one side, as if getting it out of the way of some coming conflict. Withers didn’t seem to notice the action or, if he did, it didn’t slow him down. He approached the man to what Burke considered an unsafe distance, before stopping and speaking. Burke couldn’t hear the words, but the man grew agitated and he frowned.
Then without warning, the man pulled out a pistol and shot Withers directly in the chest.
2
Burke stood over his suitcase, which lay open on the hotel bed, and began sorting out his various belongings. He was currently unarmed. The excitement of getting Withers to the hospital had superseded his plan to pick up weapons from the secret cache arranged by his boss, J. Carlton Moore. He had the coordinates and needed to get there as soon as possible. There was no telling when he’d need lethal hardware. If he’d had the weapon at The Grounds, he might have been able to take down the ape who’d shot Withers, although he doubted it. The man had moved fast and had a car waiting. Burke cursed the wounded Withers for being so careless, but that’s what you got with a playboy spy. It brought to Burke’s mind another rich-as-God agent, his best friend Perry Hall. Perry, however, didn’t demonstrate Withers’ sloppiness. Perry took the job seriously and had lived through deep personal tragedy that no doubt blunted any possible nonchalance. Burke himself wasn’t exactly hurting in the money department, although a pauper compared with Perry or Withers. But clearly money didn’t have to equate with foolhardiness, and the Englishman should have been more careful. Burke regretted the incident, but Withers had all but asked for it.
Burke walked over to the television and turned it on. It was set to a local Sydney news program, and he left it there. He wasn’t in the mood to watch television, but he was comforted by the background noise. At times, he found it relaxing. He returned to his suitcase and pulled out his bag of travel-sized toiletries.
On the television, he heard the host say, “With all the talk of North Korea and its missile program, do you think Australia is at any immediate risk?”
The guest, identified by the graphic at the bottom of the screen as Dr. Leonard Allcock, emitted a scornful laugh. He was a portly man with crazy white hair and the tiniest glasses Burke had ever seen.
“I believe this entire scenario, the crisis as some are calling it, is at the very least a gross overestimate of the Kim Jong Un’s abilities and, more importantly, his ambitions.”
The host held up a hand. “Hasn’t he made his ambitions clear, Dr. Allcock?”
“You’re speaking of the threats against countries like Japan and the United States, I take it?”
The host nodded. “Yes. Those have been difficult to misinterpret.”
“And yet you have done just that. Kim Jong Un is merely trying to save face. The American president has been pushing him into corners with inflammatory language. Naturally, a leader like Kim Jong Un must respond in kind or risk losing the respect of his people.”
“So you think the escalation is little more than a stage play?”
“Not a bad way to put it. A stage play. Much like Our American Cousin.”
The interviewer raised an eyebrow. “That was the play Abraham Lincoln was attending when he was assassinated.”
Allcock smiled. “Very good. I’ll let you draw your own parallels.”
“Then what of the ongoing missile tests? Doesn’t there appear to be a very real effort to increase the range and power of their arsenal?”
Allcock huffed. “And what of it? What nation on earth isn’t doing the same thing? The world is constantly in an arms race of some manner and intensity. The United States is the worst offender. It just so happens that much of my work has a very cogent bearing upon just this issue.”
“Pardon me for saying so, Dr. Allcock, but I think many of our viewers will feel you are taking the side of North Korea in this debate.”
“And would that be so wrong? Look at it from their perspective. They are a small nation that is constantly being hit with sanctions and condemned by vastly more powerful and, they believe, hostile nations.”
“You believe they are acting out, then, and if everyone left them alone, they would behave themselves?”
“Well, we’d have to define ‘behave themselves.’ There are two main points I always tr
y to make in these discussions. First, we must judge North Korea by the standards of any other nation, including the United States, Britain, and even Australia. Second, the threat of North Korea is broadly overstated, both in intent and capability. They don’t currently even possess a missile capable of reaching Australia, though the technology needed to change that scenario is already—”
Burke snapped off the television. “This guy sounds like a crackpot. They don’t possess a capable missile yet,” he muttered. “We’ll see how smug he is when everything goes to hell.”
It was impossible to not have heard the chatter about North Korea of late. The major news outlets, as well as the literally thousands of online quack-news sites that Burke did his level best to ignore, seemed to talk of little else. One would have to live alone in a cave deep in the Outback to be unaware. But Burke, needing professionally to keep at least one finger on the global pulse and having resources beyond what the average man on the street could bring to bear, was a tad more aware.
In point of fact, it was North Korea’s ongoing shenanigans that had finally gotten him to Sydney. In general, SpyCo chief J. Carlton Moore briefed his top operatives personally before sending them off. These briefings tended to be economical, however. This could be attributed both to Moore’s personality—he was not overly verbose—and to the recent revelation that a new terrorism force, with resources and reach far beyond anything SpyCo had dealt with in the past, was now on the global scene. Moore’s briefings in the wake of this revelation had become even more spare. Burke knew there was something brewing in Australia that had bearing on the NK situation, and that his intervention could prevent something grave from happening. But, with minor variations, the same could be said of any assignment. Plug in different players, change the location.
Assignment- Danger A SpyCo Collection 4-6 Page 1
