Deception

by Ethan Jones

  He waved at her and waited until a red Honda sedan drove past on 24th Street. He dashed across the street, then turned and looked at Liberty again. She waved back at him, but he just nodded. Then he came to the tavern’s entrance and pulled the bronze metal handle of the heavy door.

  The interior with its dark wooden panels and the dim lights from wall-mounted black sconces added to the mysterious atmosphere inside the tavern. Javin waited a moment for his eyes to adjust to the semi-darkness, then looked at the smiling brunette across the counter. She was dressed in a white low-cut blouse and a red skirt that accentuated all the right curves. “Hello, sir,” she said in a cheery voice. “Do you have a reservation?”

  “No, but I’m meeting someone.”

  “What’s your name?”

  He wasn’t sure what name Mila had given the hostess about him or herself, so he said, “She should be here. Can I have a look?”

  “Oh, of course, certainly. This way.”

  Her bright smile made Javin want to ask her about what dentist she used. She had perfect rows of teeth and luscious lips. He followed her to the left, through a brown door that opened into the dining area with large floor-to-ceiling windows and ceiling-mounted, bright chandeliers. Most of the tables were occupied by well-dressed guests talking in hushed tones. He felt a bit out of place, since he was wearing black designer jeans, a dark blue shirt, and a jacket, although the restaurant had no dress code.

  He ran his fingers through his short-cropped hair as they walked by a couple of tables, then the hostess turned to her left. He saw Mila sitting next to a window, partially hidden behind one of the marble columns. Her long, strawberry blonde hair was dyed black and wasn’t pulled into a bun, her preferred style. Instead, it flowed down her shoulders, and her vigilant eyes were focused in Javin’s direction. She was dressed in a black blouse and a gray, black, and white skirt. A black leather purse, large enough to conceal a pistol—probably a Makarov 9mm pistol, her favorite weapon—hung from the back of her chair.

  “She’s right there,” he said to the hostess.

  “Oh, I’m glad we found her.” She stepped to the side and gestured with her hand for Javin to continue.

  Before he could do so, she asked, “Can I take your jacket?”

  “No, I’ll keep it. Thanks.”

  Javin cast a sweeping glance at the dining area. Situational awareness was drilled into his mind from the time he was a young recruit at The Plant, the CIS’s training facility for covert operatives. He made a note of the fire exit up ahead, in the direction of the kitchen and the washrooms.

  Mila stood up and gave him a restrained smile. She stepped from behind the white-clothed table set for four and held out her arms. “My Javin, how I missed you…”

  Her soft, playful tone sent shivers through his body. He embraced her, trying to keep his distance, but Mila brought him closer, holding him tight against her. Then she kissed him on the left cheek, and smiled again, a full, satisfied smile. Next, she looked at the hostess, who said, “Your server will be with you right away.”

  Javin drew in a deep breath and glanced at Mila. “You look great and so full of life…”

  Mila grinned. “Yeah, funny guy. Sit down, and I’ll explain.”

  Javin had barely gotten comfortable on his chair when the server, a man in his late thirties sporting a full beard, appeared tableside. “Welcome, sir,” he said to Javin. “Anything to drink?”

  “Eh, what are you getting?”

  “Red wine. I looked at the menu. They have a pretty good Montes Folly Syrah. Chilean. Ever tried it?”

  Javin shrugged.

  “I’m sure you’ll like it.”

  “Another time.”

  “Why not today? You’re off work, and so am I.” Mila shrugged.

  “It’s better if I don’t…”

  “I insist. It will make my request… let’s say, more acceptable…”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of,” he said in a tone of resignation.

  Mila smiled at Javin, then looked at the server. “A bottle and two glasses.”

  “Right away, madam.” He gave them a small bow and disappeared.

  “So, Javin, it’s been a while…” She leaned back in her chair.

  “Yes, Mila, not that long, but it feels like forever…”

  “You were telling me how things have changed.” Mila’s face began to form a frown. She gestured to the window and said, “I saw you kiss Liberty. You’ve made a decision…”

  Javin nodded. He leaned closer to the table and looked at her. Mila’s face had a rosy glow, her flawless, pale skin shining. “Yes, and let me explain what… how it all happened.”

  He had prepared what he was going to tell Mila, and how he was going to tell her about Liberty. But at this moment, it all felt fake and rehearsed. Mila deserved better; she deserved the truth, the whole, unfiltered truth. So Javin shrugged, then said, “I hadn’t decided anything until I heard about your death—”

  “Wait.” Mila waved a dismissive hand. “Are you blaming me for your choice?”

  “No, far from it. I’m mentioning the factors at play. When I heard about what I thought had really happened to you, I… I was devastated.”

  Mila groaned. “And you found solace in another woman’s arms?”

  Javin ignored the jab. “You know it was a difficult dilemma. If I were confident you were still alive, who knows, perhaps this would have gone differently?”

  “Who knows? You know, Javin, you know.” She pointed at his chest with her finger as her voice rose.

  Javin looked around at the nearest tables. Guests were giving Mila and Javin curious glances and muted frowns.

  “And you can tell me. I want you to tell me,” Mila said in a demanding voice. “What would you have done if I were still in the game?”

  “I would have chosen Liberty,” Javin said without hesitation.

  She gave him a cockeyed glance as a look of surprise replaced her deep frown. “Are you certain, Javin?”

  “I am, yes.”

  “A hundred percent certain?”

  “Yes. Look, this didn’t come easy to me. I thought about it many times. It was at the forefront of my mind for weeks. I just wasn’t certain which way to go.”

  Mila shrugged and let out a deep sigh. Then she shook her head and gave Javin a small smile. “Well, there’s not much left for me to say then but to wish you all the best together…”

  Javin gave her an incredulous look. “That’s it?”

  Mila smiled bitterly and spread out her hands on the table. “What do you expect me to do? Scream at you, slap you, point a gun at your head and demand that you love me?” Her voice wavered when she said the word “love.”

  Javin was caught by surprise. He didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing.

  Mila said, “You can’t force someone to love you, Javin. You can try, but it doesn’t work.” She sighed.

  “I’m sorry, Mila.” He reached for her hand and held it for a long moment. “I’m sure you’ll find the right man for you…”

  “Of course I will. Four billion people on God’s good earth, right?”

  She looked away, and Javin thought her eyes were welling up. He hadn’t expected this from Mila, the fierce SVR operative. “I’ve got to make a phone call. Be right back.” He stood up and walked toward the kitchen and the restrooms to give Mila space and time to compose herself.

  From the other end of the hall, he studied the two dozen—twenty-one, to be precise, including him and Mila—guests, wondering if one or more of them were Russian or worked with Mila. A young couple holding hands and sitting two tables behind Mila caught his attention. They were beyond earshot of her conversation but close enough to intervene within a second. The blond man in the gray suit seemed a bit stiff and uneasy, even though he was in the company of a gorgeous brunette woman dressed in a tight, revealing blue dress. He looked over her shoulder at Mila, then turned his head in Javin’s direction.

  Javin held his
glance for a moment, but the young man looked through Javin and around the area.

  Javin grinned. Yup, it’s them.

  He still didn’t know the reason she had come to the United States. She said she wasn’t working, but did that mean she wasn’t working today? Was she telling the truth? Is she working me?

  He shrugged. He was surprised that the conversation about Liberty had gone that smoothly. He wondered if Mila was really ready to call it quits or biding her time. Javin shrugged again and tried not to think about it. She said it’s over, so it’s over.

  Javin went to use the washroom, and, at the five-minute mark, he walked back to their table. When he came near it, he saw that the server had already brought the wine bottle. Either he or Mila had poured two glasses. The wine had a deep ruby red color. She was swiping left and right on her phone, then began to type rapidly, her fingertips dancing on the screen.

  “Sorry, that took longer than expected.”

  “It’s alright.” Mila put her phone away in her purse. It made a metal-on-metal clinging sound, and Javin wondered if it had brushed against her pistol. He didn’t ask.

  Mila picked up her glass and held it up. “A toast. To new beginnings and to happier times,” she said in an almost solemn voice.

  “Cheers,” Javin said.

  They clinked their glasses, and Javin brought his glass to his mouth. He wasn’t a wine connoisseur by a long stretch, but he liked its taste. He thought he noticed a hint of vanilla, but he couldn’t be certain. He looked at the white label with fancy scribbles and the painting of what resembled a mountain and blue skies.

  “It’s good,” he said to Mila.

  She had taken a good sip. “It’s fantastic. Can you taste the mocha flavor?”

  “No.”

  “Have some more.”

  “I will.” He placed the glass on the table.

  “Should we order our food?”

  “Sure, why not?”

  He handed Mila one of the menus stacked on the side of the table, but she declined with a headshake. “I already know what I want.”

  “I’ll have the same.”

  Mila smiled. “You don’t even know what it is…”

  “Doesn’t matter. I trust your judgment.”

  “Even if it’s a vegan salad?”

  “It’s not going to be a salad.” Javin smiled.

  “True, it’ll be something that had vegetation all its life.”

  She glanced toward the kitchen, looking for the server. When she found him, she made a head gesture, pointing toward their table. The server came in a few seconds and stood at attention. “Yes, ready to order?”

  “We’ll have the rib eye steak, well done. Crisp. The same with the potato.”

  “Excellent choice. The potato is baked—”

  “Can they make it crisp?” She smiled at the server.

  “Of course, they’ll do whatever you want.”

  Mila looked at Javin. “I already like this guy…”

  The server gave them a polite smile. “And you, sir?”

  “I’ll have the same.”

  “Well, then. I’ll take those menus.”

  Javin handed them to the server, and he retreated with another smile. He looked at Mila, who said, “How much have you told her?”

  “Whatever I can.”

  “Does she know exactly what you do?”

  “She knows enough to connect the dots.”

  “And what happens when she finds out the truth, the whole truth?”

  Javin frowned. Mila hadn’t given up. Is she thinking of blackmailing me? “You’re not going to tell her, are you?”

  “No, of course not, Javin. I’m not that cruel. I might be mad at you, but I’m not going to destroy your hopes of finding love.” She looked directly into his eyes as she spoke in a soft, steady tone.

  She sounded genuine, and Javin decided she was, so he nodded.

  Mila said, “But she will find out, Javin. She might hear about one of your friends, about their true identity. Or one of your enemies might leak some intel. You’d better be prepared for that when the time comes…”

  Javin pondered her words and gave her a thoughtful look. “I should, I really should. But not today. We have other, more pressing things to discuss.”

  “Right.” Mila took a sip from her glass.

  “By the way, your watchers, the blond man, and the woman in the blue dress, are they necessary?”

  Mila grinned. “How long did it take you?”

  “Sixty seconds, but I wasn’t looking.”

  “They’re not trying to be discreet.”

  “Why do you need them?”

  “I’ll tell you in a moment but don’t you want to know…”

  “About your supposed death? I’m sure you’ll let me know, at the right time.”

  Mila nodded. “Let me show you something.”

  She retrieved her phone. She entered a code, then began to tap the screen and swipe left and right, until she found what she was looking for. She turned the phone around and slid it across the table. “Ever heard of this man?”

  Javin studied the photo. It was a white man in his early sixties, or maybe late fifties. A full head of salt-and-pepper hair, a broad, wrinkled forehead, small brown eyes, freckled skin, and a long, narrow nose. The man was clean-shaven and wearing a light gray pinstriped jacket, a crisp white shirt, and a black tie. “Never seen him. Who is he?”

  “His name is Vanja Tarasov.” The frown on Mila’s face grew darker.

  Javin nodded. “Okay, by the look on your face I’m assuming he’s a bad guy…”

  “A very bad guy.”

  “Who is he?”

  “Used to be SVR. One of the best covert operatives. A great mentor to many.”

  “Including you?”

  Mila nodded. “Including me.”

  “So this is personal for you?”

  “Extremely personal.”

  “What did he do?”

  She sighed. “He spied for the US. Tarasov was a top-level national security advisor working in the Kremlin. At the same time, he was selling highly-classified intel to the States.”

  Javin nodded. “Tarasov’s a dead man.”

  Mila gave him a steel gaze as she leaned closer to him. She glanced around at the nearest patrons, and when she was certain they weren’t paying attention to her words, she whispered, “Tarasov and all traitors like him will kick the bucket. Over a dozen people were killed across the globe because of his irresponsible actions. He betrayed his friends, his brothers in arms.”

  Javin reached for his glass. He needed a drink, but he only took a small sip.

  Mila said, “Whatever he got in exchange for it, those thirty pieces of silver he was given, he will choke on them.”

  Javin’s eyes never left Mila. Her facial muscles were tight, and her left-hand fingers had turned into a fist. Her voice was razor-sharp, void of any emotions.

  He thought a moment about his reply. “If you already have the plan in place, why do you need me?”

  Mila gave him a small, frustrated smile. “It’s still a plan, Javin.” She stressed the word “plan” more than necessary. “And we’ve had a complication.”

  Javin took another drink, a larger sip than earlier. “What kind of—”

  “Tarasov has disappeared.”

  “How did that happen?”

  “Still trying to figure it out. But that’s irrelevant. Sufficient to say that we might have a rat. That limits the number of people I can count on.”

  “I see, so you need my help to hunt down Tarasov in the US, is that it?” Javin’s tone of voice sounded like Mila was asking the impossible.

  “Not quite. You and I will go after Tarasov, that’s for sure. But not in the States.”

  Javin cocked his head. “Why not?”

  Mila grinned. “We have this agreement with our American friends, according to which we shouldn’t operate on their soil.”

  Javin groaned. “And of course, you al
ways keep your word…”

  “My dear Javin, we do what we can.” Mila’s voice took on her usual playful tone. “The main reason is because Tarasov is no longer in the States, according to my intel.”

  “Where did he go?”

  “Where do you think?”

  Javin’s frown, which had already wrinkled his face, grew deeper and darker. “Canada, he’s gone to Canada.”

  Mila smiled. “You’re right. That’s where you and I are going hunting for this traitor…”

  If you enjoyed this exclusive preview of Counterblow,

  click below to purchase it now:

  This work would have not been possible without the great support of my wife. I would also like to thank Frank Paine, Kristen Lewendon, Patti Holycross, Susan Harju, Irma Lero, Meagan Myhren-Bennett, Barbara Kappen, Shari Gross, Sarah Stern, Susan Fritz, J.T. Brock, David Parker, Wessel Gordon, and Tim Birmingham, for their helpful suggestions..

  DECEPTION. Copyright © 2020 by Ethan Jones

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover design: Kim Killion

  First edition: April 2020

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