Compromised (11 page)

S
hit on a stick!”

“Did you break a nail, darling?” Sebastian's droll voice came from the kitchen.

“Um, have you checked the intel telexes this morning?” They called them telexes still, even though they no longer came rattling into the office on a teleprinter.

“Not before my coffee, darling; it's bad for my heartburn,” he replied, emerging with two tiny cups of coffee. Under normal circumstances, she'd squee with delight at being offered one without having to beg or bargain.

“You better get your Tums, then, because you're not going to like it.”

It had been three days since Sadie had seen Simon. Stratigos hadn't called about the plans that she had waiting on her desk, and the office Christmas party fund was now two thousand euros in the black. She'd just started to relax, to go about her work as normal.

Sebastian sat at his desk, input his password, and scrolled down. “Ah, shit on a stick,” he said quietly.

Numerous sources had written from all over the region saying that they were hearing that some known suppliers were being put on notice for a large purchase out of Athens. And although no one specified the actual requests, the suppliers were known for the procurement of anything from switchblades to enriched uranium. Nothing about this was comforting.

“This is really bad news. Really bad,” Sebastian said. “We're going to have to call the director back from his golf vacation in the Costa del Sol. He is not going to be a happy bunny. Not one bit.”

Sadie felt a little out of her depth. She hadn't been here long enough to cultivate any deep assets in the city. None except Platon. She cursed her single-mindedness about him. No doubt he was into something, but he wouldn't have good enough connections to put so many high-level suppliers on alert. She'd been wasting her time with him.

“Tell me what to do. I'll do anything…even pick up your dry cleaning.” Why had she said that?

“I know you want to help, but I don't think my having a clean jacket is going to stop world terrorism.”

She went to the whiteboard that usually held lunch orders when the office was full. She wrote the number seventeen in big numbers with a circle around it.

“What's that?” Sebastian asked.

“The number of days until Air Force One is wheels down in Athens.” She put the cap firmly back on the marker and replaced it in the tray with a thud.

“So you're in charge of office morale?”

“Just keeping us focused. Now tell me. What do you need me to do?”

“Call the director and touch base with our station in Istanbul and Paris. Ask who their sources for this intel are and how reliable they've been in the past. See what kind of commitment you get from them to delve deeper for you.” His eyes flickered to the clock. “I want a full sitrep at midday. Questions?”

She'd never seen him so alive and decisive. She guessed that's why he was on the senior officer pay grade. “None. I'm on it.”

She'd just pulled up the contact details of the city offices, when the desk phone rang. Sebastian looked at the light flashing and glared at her.

It was the Devries Construction line. She swiveled her chair away from Sebastian's disapproval and answered it in her nasal receptionist's voice.

It was Stratigos this time, and for a second she wondered if Platon was still too injured to talk. They'd texted a couple of times, but that's all she'd heard from him. When she put him through, he wasted no time with small talk. “I need those plans.”

She fingered the plans that were still on her desk. “I have them here, sir,” she said, hoping he'd like the deference.

“Please come to the café where we met before. Ten minutes?”

There was absolutely no time that day, or even the next, that she'd be able to slip away. “I'm afraid I'm really bus—”

But he'd already hung up.
Shit sticks
. Sadie turned to Sebastian, who still had his stern face on. “I have to slip out for a few minutes. I'll be right back—I promise.”

He shook his head silently, then turned his attention back to his PC.

She hesitated for a second before she grabbed her purse and the plans and ran for the stairs. She clocked the time at ten thirty. She would be back by eleven or die trying.

She arrived at the café to find Stratigos and Platon waiting for her, with the three men she'd seen there before sitting around the table behind them.

She took the open chair, placed the rolled-up plans on the table, and looked at Platon. “How are you feeling, sweetie?” She smiled and put her hand on his arm, but he didn't meet her eyes.

Stratigos took the plans and leaned forward. “Platon tells me that you weren't mugged. Indeed, Platon still had his wallet on him when you brought him back to me.”

Sadie's blood ran cold. She'd forgotten about his wallet. But she smiled. This was why they paid her the big bucks. Or at least this would be why they paid her the big bucks, if they ever paid anyone big bucks. “Aw, Platon. I told you that you were unconscious, remember? When we were walking back?”

He met her eyes for the first time with a frown. His hand went to his head.

She leaned in and looked Stratigos in the eye. “He was unconscious for about a minute and a half, which is when the man took my things. He threw my purse on the ground. Platon had fallen on his back, so his wallet couldn't have been accessed anyway…But hold on a moment.” She paused and looked at her purse and pushed her chair back a little as if she were just remembering something. “The mugger only went for my purse. He took the envelope straight out and dumped the rest. It was as if he
knew
it was in there.” She looked at both Platon and Stratigos and then the three men behind them with purpose, as if she were deciding which one orchestrated the mugging. “Which one of you took the general's money?” she asked the three men.

Suddenly the dynamic changed. They all started talking at once, pleading with Stratigos in Greek, reaching hands out to him as they spoke.

“Enough,” Stratigos said. “Enough.” Silence fell. “You have money now, so the matter is settled.” He looked at his muscle. “I will find out what happened to you, you can be sure of that.”

She beamed. “Good. And when you do, I hope you punish them for what they did to Platon.” She deliberately softened her voice as she said his name. Platon gave her a small smile, which was pretty much all he could do, given the cut on his lower lip.

“Thank you for the plans. Can I rely on you for”—he shrugged—“other favors?”

“Any friend of Platon's is a friend of mine,” she said brightly. “But I have to go. I had to sneak out while my boss was in a meeting.” She stood and slung her purse over her shoulder. “Call me, sweetie,” she said to Platon and squeezed his shoulder as she went past, bussing the top of his head as she did.

As soon as she rounded the corner, she checked her watch and started to run. She'd successfully turned the tables on their accusation. Brains, not bullets, as they said at The Farm. If she could get back to work and get all the information that Sebastian needed, she would consider this a good day.

She called the Paris CIA station first, because they were already up. She knew the Istanbul office opened later because it stayed open later. Although they worked from the embassy for security, they often worked late into the evening off-site. It was easier going to work without being notable when there were hundreds of people coming and going through the embassy grounds.

She was put through to a woman called Stephanie. The directory said that she was a tech analyst, and there was no hiding that she was surprised to hear from Sadie.

“Wow. There are people out there, after all. I mean, I'd heard rumors…”

Sadie frowned at the phone. “Excuse me?”

“Sorry. They keep us in the basement here, and I've been sending out intel reports for six months and no one has ever called me about any of them. We all assumed they were being deep filed, if you know what I mean,” she said. Sadie could hear her typing as she spoke and envied her ability to multitask like that.

“Not this one. I'm looking at telex number PA40045. What can you tell me about that?”

Stephanie typed for a moment before speaking again. “It was chatter picked up in a bar in the thirteenth arrondissement in the city and then corroborated by an email. It came from an unknown client asking for a hold on what the emailer termed ‘lift equipment,' which we assume is code for something.”

“Do you know where it came from?” Sadie asked.

“Athens. The account itself couldn't be traced. But I can tell you that it was sent using a hotel mobile server, which was his only mistake. Hotel servers aren't known for their security.”

Her mind blown by this whole side of the business she knew nothing about, Sadie scribbled down some of what Stephanie said. “Wow,” she said. “I need to remember your telephone number.”

“It's nice to be appreciated. I'll tell the rest of the guys here. Do you want to know which hotel it came from?”

She kicked herself. How could she forget to ask? “Yes, please—that would be awesome.”

“The email came from the Agropolis Hotel.”

Sadie half knew she was going to say that, but it was still a shock to hear it said. It was where Platon worked. Which meant she needed to tell Sebastian about her work to date. Which again was half a relief and half-horrible. She'd desperately wanted to reel Platon and Stratigos in herself to prove to the director, and her father—and possibly even herself—that she was capable of being really good at her job.

Simon was in Sadie's apartment again. But this time, he wasn't going to tell anyone. Not even Sadie. He hoped to be gone before she got home—a ghost visit.

He planned on spending less than thirty minutes there. He just needed to be sure. Just for his peace of mind. The thought of Sadie involved in something bad turned his stomach. And he had a really strong stomach. But he was sure there was something off about his ex-fiancée.

He shut and locked her front door. And methodically made his way from the left-hand side of the door. He checked the thick doorframe to make sure there were no hidden compartments. Then he checked under the rug and behind every picture on the wall. Nothing. Bedside table—aha! He opened the drawer and found a strange shiny, black, pebble-looking thing. A microphone? A scrambler? He picked it up and flicked the switch. As it buzzed into action, and he realized what it was, he nearly dropped the thing. Juggling to catch it, he batted it back in the drawer. Shit, Sadie. A vibrator?

He tried to concentrate on the job instead of imagining exactly what Sadie did with her toy. He pulled out the drawer, feeling the sides and underneath and around the back of the nightstand. Nothing.

He looked under the bed and under the mattress—nothing. He contemplated pulling the seams open, but there was really no hiding that. So instead he felt around the seams for anything that didn't belong here.

With steady, practiced moves, he continued to make his way around the room, opening drawers and feeling for anything that shouldn't be there. Three-quarters of the way around, he suddenly realized what a shit he was being to her. He was searching his ex-fiancée's apartment. The push and pull in his brain was seriously doing a number on his head. There was something off about her: therefore, she must be a criminal or into something bad. She had a boyfriend yet had slept with Simon too—was that a concrete reason for searching her rooms? Her boyfriend's uncle—or whatever he was—was a known anarchist, or a terrorist by any other name, so obviously she had to be involved. He finished the apartment and sat down on the bed and held his head to send those doubting voices away.

He was about to get up and leave, when he caught her scent. He started for a moment, looking toward the window for an escape, but there was no sound, no footsteps on the stairs. It was coming from the bed. He lifted the pillow to his face.
Oh my God
. Just the smell of her perfume and shampoo made him want her. He buried his face into the pillow and just inhaled for a couple of moments. Blood started pulsing noticeably through his dick. Dammit. He put his hand in his lap and tried to think his way past an erection. But his body refused to listen.

There was absolutely no way he was staying there after that. Beating off in an absent girl's apartment reeked of stalker–serial killer. He had to get outside. He put the pillow back down, arranged the covers, and headed out, closing the door behind him.

As his erection subsided, he realized that she obviously couldn't be involved in what he thought she was involved in. Which was good. It meant he could just zoom in and ask her what the fuck was going on with her boyfriend. Because now he was sure. He wanted Sadie all to himself. All. To. Himself.

S
adie was still at work. She'd briefed Sebastian on the things Stephanie had told her—it turned out that he knew about the software they were using. It also turned out that the Athens station was getting its own Stephanie at the beginning of the following year. Nice.

Now all that had to be tied in was Platon. Possibly.

“There is one thing that may or may not be related,” she began.

Sebastian put his pen down and gave her his full attention, which unnerved her. Somehow she thought she'd tell him while he was distracted by the bigger picture.

“So the guy I've been pretending to see…”

“Pretending?” Sebastian's eyes shot up into his thick salt-and-pepper hairline.

She took a deep breath. “Yes, pretending.”

“You didn't sleep with him?” He crossed his arms and swung his chair around, putting his feet up on the desk. “You lied to me?”

“Only sligh—yes, I did.”

“Carry on.”

“Okay. The background is that when I was screening the new employees at the G20 hotel, I came across this one guy. He wrote on his application that he was a mobile-phone sales assistant, which he was. But on the application he completed for the cell phone company, he had listed a bunch of qualifications that he hadn't listed on his application to work at the hotel. He was an engineer, graduated top of his class in electronic engineering with a minor in mechanics. I wondered why he was applying for work as a security guard.

“So I just followed him. More as an exercise than anything else. You know, at The Farm they tell you—”

He interrupted. “Yes, they tell you to practice your skills by following random people and seeing how much you can find out about their lives. I know.”

She nodded. “So I did that. I let him pick me up in a bar, and I've been fending off any more than kissing for about a month.

“Last week he introduced me to Stratigos—this man”—she showed him a photo—“who seems to run an anarchist cell. Very anti-American. He trapped me a few days ago. The phone call I got today? I let him pay me for the plans of the US embassy annex. I delivered them to him. He asked me if I'd be willing to do him more favors.” She shrugged. “It's a textbook move.”

“Where's the money?” Sebastian asked.

She smiled. “It's a long story, but I got him to pay me twice. There's two thousand euros in the safe.” She nodded toward the huge, very old steel safe that took up a corner of the office.

He nodded and sighed. “Let's hope we're all still here to have a good Christmas party then.”

It was a CIA tradition that any operative who was given cash would put it toward their Christmas party. They justified it to themselves because they couldn't give the money back to the criminal, and they couldn't hand it to the police or their cover would be blown. If they sent it to Langley, they'd basically be exporting illegal money. So they made the decision decades ago that they would pump it back into the local economy by having Christmas parties.

“I want lobster at the party,” she said, happy that he wasn't pissed at her.

“In December? You'd be better off just drinking fifty dollars' worth of Pepto-Bismol. Anyway. Back to your story.”

“Right. I don't think it could be a coincidence that Platon works at the same hotel that the email came from. Do you?” she asked.

“Do I think it could be a coincidence? Of course it could. It's one of the biggest hotels in Athens. It also might not be a coincidence. But regardless, it's not enough to go on. See if you can find out more. Preferably before the director gets back.”

She nodded and went back to her computer screen. She was sure it would only be a matter of time before Stratigos called again.

She called the Istanbul office, but they said they'd just been repeating what a source had mentioned in passing. The CIA operative hadn't wanted to ask more about it because he was undercover and wasn't prepared to “show himself” for such a tiny bit of information. She couldn't blame him. So the only lead she had was Platon. But she wanted to do her due diligence, so she called their contact at the hotel for a list of their guests and employees who were present at the hotel the day before.

While she waited for the list, she considered emailing Simon. She still had his email address on her personal email. She'd thought about deleting it, pulling up the contact and hovering her thumb over the
DELETE CONTACT
button, but had always come up with a reason not to. She knew she had a million excuses, but somehow she'd convinced herself that each one was the right reason not to. But in truth, she'd been putting off deleting the contact because she'd still had hope that he might show up somewhere and sweep her off her feet. Until, of course, she'd received her training. If not for her current job, his appearing here in Athens would have been a dream come true. She'd have told him everything she'd felt and made him talk about their relationship. But she couldn't now. She had too many secrets to hide herself to start a “let's be honest” conversation.

The next time she looked up it was six p.m. Her shoulders hurt and her stomach was rumbling. She stretched and yawned.

“Hungry?” Sebastian asked, stretching the same way.

“Desperately. I'll go. If I stay sitting here, I'm going to get bedsores. Or chair sores or something.”

“Here.” He threw rumpled euros on the desk. “Go get us the biggest, nastiest pizza you can find. I need food.” He dragged out the last word and then yawned himself.

When she got back with the greasy, amazing-smelling pizza, Sebastian had already gotten out a hidden bottle of bourbon and two glasses. Until she clapped eyes on it, she hadn't realized how badly she needed a drink.

“Lemme grab some ice,” she said, already halfway to the kitchen.

“Sure, if you're okay ruining it,” he grumbled.

“I am okay with that,” she said with a grin.

He shook his head in slow despair. She loved it when he pretended to be exasperated with the younger generation.

They drank and ate, and she belched, making him laugh unreasonably hard. And then they drank some more, and then a good hour after they finished eating, they reheated the leftovers and started eating again.

When the last slice had disappeared, Sebastian pressed his fist to his chest and made a face. “Hello, heartburn, my old friend.”

Sadie giggled, and when she started, she found it hard to stop.

“You wait. Twenty years and you'll be a card-carrying member of the Tums club.” He popped a few in his mouth and chewed.

“You poor old man.” She shook her head in pretend sympathy, and he just groaned.

“Do you remember your time at The Farm?” she asked him.

“Jesus, child. I'm not
that
old. Of course I do.”

She giggled and hiccupped, and giggled again, trying and failing the first time to rest her chin on her hand. She was wasted. For a second she realized that she'd probably have to sleep at the office that night. She didn't reckon her chances at getting home by herself were very good…unless, of course, Simon was following her again. Simon.

“I think maybe one time, before I'd moved into operations, I think maybe someone made me their mark.” She could feel her face flushing, and she didn't know if it was the alcohol or the fact that she was confessing to a weakness.

“Really? How so?” he asked, propping his own chin on both hands, with his elbows resting on his desk, looking for all the world like an eager schoolgirl.

She giggled again. And then searched her pickled brain for the thoughts to try to articulate. “I was in Mumbai in 2011—no wait, 2012.”

“Oh. Right. You were there for the bombing?” He dropped his hands and looked sincerely interested.

“I was hurt in the shock of the blast. Not seriously. But this man who'd been smiling at me on the plane ‘just happened'”—she used her fingers in slightly uncoordinated air quotes—“to pick me up and take me back to my hotel. But I hadn't told him the name of my hotel. And he got me a bit drunk and took me to my room, although I hadn't told him the room number. And then he slept with me, fully clothed, until the morning. And then he asked if he could see me again.”

Sebastian sat up straight and frowned. “Classic. Wow. Nicely done, whoever it was.” He smiled.

“I almost married him,” she said, and watched as his face fell.

“Jesus Christ, Sadie. Who was he? Did you ever find out? I don't remember reading about this in your file.” He shoved his glasses on. “That's a serious breach…”

She puffed out her cheeks. “No. He was on our side, as it turns out. Military, anyway. Secret. Which is why he's not a part of my record. But ever since my first week in the field, I wondered why he picked me—whether he was trying to get close to my father, or something worse. Was I his mission? Collateral damage on some other mission…?” She could feel herself start to well up, so she stopped talking and looked at her PC, even though it was clear that she was in no state to work.

Sebastian burst out laughing. Cackled, even. He threw his head back and guffawed, almost falling off his chair.

How could he? She looked at him in what she hoped was a disapproving look, except she couldn't be sure she'd pulled it off because her face was a little numb.

“You complete idiot.” He started laughing again. “You're—so—
innocent
,” he choked out.

“What are you talking about?”

“We all do that, Sadie. You take young men into a classroom and teach them how to get women to trust them, what do you
think
they're going to do with that information? Only use it for good? They're young men. Of course they're going to use their skills to get to know a beautiful woman.” He started laughing again. “How do you think I persuaded Netta to go out with me? My charm and good looks?” He laughed so hard that he snorted.

Sadie half laughed, half hiccupped again. And then when she saw him crying with laughter, she couldn't help but laugh herself. Was she really that stupid? Had Simon just seen her and liked her? Was it as simple as that? Had she been holding this grudge so long that she'd convinced herself that he must have been doing something nefarious?

“Did you ever tell Netta?” she asked.

He sobered immediately. “No, of course not. She'd kill me, and I'm not even joking. If you mention this to her…”

Sadie started laughing and held up her hands in surrender. “I won't; I promise. Your secret is safe with me. As long as you keep supplying me with your coffee.” She put on an innocent smile.

He groaned. And chuckled again. “Sweet, innocent Sadie,” he said. “So
cute
. I wish I could take a photo of you right now.”

She lobbed a piece of pizza crust at him and it bounced off his forehead and he jumped in surprise. “Less of the ‘sweet and cute enough for a photo,' please. I'm a crack shot. Even with pizza crust. Don't mess with me.”

He smiled and held up his hands. “Okay, so work or sleep?”

“Sleep, please. I think I need a taxi, though, or I'll have to sleep on the cot here.”

“I'll call you a cab. You're a cab.”

“So funny. So, so funny, old man.” She gathered her things as he spoke fluent Greek to the taxi company they used fairly regularly for deliveries.

As she was being driven home, a lightness seeped into her soul. Maybe Simon hadn't been using her as a mark, so much as using his skills to get to know her, for him. Not for some mission. She wondered if she could ask him, but in doing so, she'd reveal her own training. She was in no position to ask him to be honest with her.

She fell straight on her bed when she got home, only just remembering to kick off her shoes as sleep washed over her. A calm, sweet sleep for the first time in ages.