Operation Sheba (5 page)

Chapter Six

Michael closed Smith’s personnel file and threw it on top of Flynn’s. He rubbed his eyes and swiveled his chair to look outside. Darkness was falling and he wished he could to say to hell with it all and go home. Branches of the nearby pin oaks bowed effortlessly with the wind as if waving him away.

He didn’t really want to go home though—Abby wouldn’t be there. Funny how fast he’d gotten used to her presence, how fast she had turned his home into hers. Unlike the other women he’d known, Abigail hadn’t forced herself into his life. She hadn’t been looking for the perfect man to hang on her arm and show off to her friends while she privately criticized his long hours at the office and nagged him relentlessly to give up confidential information on his network of spies.

Spies, always a double-edged sword. He turned back to his desk, his fingers toying with the manila file folder still unopened. Julia Torrison, aka Abigail Quinn. He knew the information contained in the file by heart, but he opened and scanned the highlights of her Agency bio again.

JULIA MARIE TORRISON

SEX/F

RAC/W

POB/ILLINOIS

DOB/060177

HGT/5’4”

WGT/125

EYE/GRE

HAI/BROWN

LV/APT

TWN/ARLING

ST/VA

EDU/BA-SYR UNIV

LANG/FLUENT ITAL-FREN

POSTGRAD/NO

OCC/INTELANALYST-CIA

Father is unknown. Mother Valerie (Torrison) Valhuis died in 1995 due to breast cancer. Stepfather James Valhuis remarried in 1997 and currently resides in Austin, TX. Brother Eric Valhuis currently resides in Baltimore, MD with his wife and two children.

Her career with the CIA was revealed in general terms.
Beginning as an intelligence analyst out of college, Torrison requested and was granted a transfer to field operations several years later. Torrison received multiple commendations for work in the field under COS Ryan Smith.

Minute details concerning her level of involvement in operations were scant.
Torrison served in Europe between 2001-2006, working legitimately as a translator at three different U.S. embassies while also conducting surveillance and other covert operations with Conrad Flynn.

Her last official tour as a case officer ended in Berlin, Germany, in September 2006, when Flynn’s cover was blown and he was killed in a job-related accident.

Deputy Director of Operations, Michael Stone, requested Torrison to return to the U.S. and resume duties at CIA headquarters in Langley in the Counterterrorism Center. Due to the circumstances surrounding her last assignment, a change of identity was initiated.

Between him and Susan, they had transformed Julia Torrison into Abigail Quinn. And since that time, they’d lost four more agents. There was no doubt in Michael’s mind they were as dead as Flynn.

Rubbing his eyes, he closed the file and quietly thanked God Susan had had the foresight to pull Julia out of the field. Swiveling his chair, he watched the trees bend in the wind again. Images of Conrad and Julia swirled in his brain.

“What are you thinking about?” he’d asked her as they shared a lounge chair on the back deck of his house. The day was Abby’s thirtieth birthday and that was how she wanted to end it, there, alone with him, enjoying the fading colors of the sunset. Several birch logs popped and cracked in the fire kettle while the songs of crickets and frogs rose and fell in the night.

She hadn’t answered immediately, sifting carefully, he was sure, through the memory in her head. She’d stared down at their legs, his perfectly outlining hers, and traced the edge where skin met skin. Her face was partially hidden from his view.

“Isolation,” she murmured.

He’d taken his turn at being quiet. Agency interpreters long ago had classified the woman in his arms as a high analytic with a corresponding high level of introversion. She craved solitude, preferred to work alone, and sought companionship on a one-on-one basis. A lone wolf to whom isolation was comfortable. Even then, Michael knew their conversation was somehow linked to a past that hung in the shadows of their relationship. He’d rested a hand on her stomach and waited for her to continue.

“Isolation and Interrogation is where it really started for me,” she told him. “My training leader at the Farm thought he would get me to confess to the usual list of false crimes, conspiracy and espionage particularly, the way he had everyone else in the class up to that point.”

She’d paused for a moment and he’d felt her sadness enveloping them. “The first twenty-four hours he left me in a cell with nothing but a pot to pee in. Isolation, however, didn’t bother me. When he came back after the first day and told me to confess, I laughed at him.

“But of course, he was smart. He went back and read my file more thoroughly and figured out the way to break me was to overwhelm me with social interaction instead. So he began sending small groups of soldiers into the cell to verbally accost me. Every few hours a fresh set would enter the room, corner me and get in my face. They screamed at me, sang to me, told me vulgar jokes. Another twenty-four hours passed without a moment’s peace.”

She’d sighed and he’d caressed strands of her hair lying on his chest, sending her silent encouragement through the stroke of his fingertips.

“About four o’clock in the morning, my leader sent the last group of soldiers out of the cell and went for the confession again.”

Sitting up, she’d pulled away from Michael and brought her knees to her chest. “He’d broken me, but he didn’t know it. When he told me to confess, I didn’t react at all. So he moved in closer.

“I didn’t acknowledge he was there, mostly because my brain was fried. He decided to force a confession out of me. He pushed me up against the wall, pinned my arms at my sides, and whispered in my ear…”

Leaning forward, Michael slipped his arms around her waist and buried his face in her hair. “What did he say?”

She’d struggled to keep emotion out of her voice, but Michael heard it anyway. “He said, ‘I would love to kiss you.’”

He couldn’t miss the humor, but he still had stiffened at the inappropriate behavior of the trainer. “He made a pass at you?”

Abby had nodded. “Since he was in such close proximity to me, he left himself open to my knee and I drove his balls about six inches into his body. His sudden physical contact had sent me right over the edge. The proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back, I suppose. He stayed standing for a couple of seconds, but then went down to his knees, and as he did, I pulled his gun out of his waistband and pointed it at his head.

“‘The price of a kiss is your life,’ I told him. I honestly thought about pulling that trigger too, but at the last second I threw the gun on the ground instead. I like to believe I never would have pulled the trigger, no matter how strung out I was.”

Her fingers had combed through her hair. “Of course, that effectively ended the training session and landed me a thorough psych evaluation.”

Michael hadn’t tried to stop the slow rumble of laughter erupting from deep in his stomach. “Jesus, I bet he was pissed.”

Abigail had laughed too. “He was and I knew enough about him to be scared shitless once my brain was functioning normally again. He had been a Navy SEAL, an SAS trainer for the Agency and a CIA operator in Germany for a year before they rotated him back to the Farm to train recruits. Susan said he was the best and she liked pulling him in to train whenever she could. Embarrassing him like that in front of his fellow trainers and the class wasn’t my best move. He passed me anyway.”

“Did you ever grant him his wish, let him kiss you?”

She’d nodded and understanding dawned on him. He couldn’t help but ask, “Who was it?”

A spark from the fire had caught Michael’s attention as it was lifted into the dark by the wind. “Conrad Flynn,” she’d answered.

“You had no right to screw with my life, Flynn.”

Conrad watched her carefully, felt his pulse beating a tad faster than he wanted it to as his gaze slid over her in a quick inventory. God, he just wanted to stand there and soak her up. Wisps of chestnut brown curls framed her face and lay on the shoulders of her double-breasted jacket. The blush-pink suit accentuated the delicate curves of her body. Her toenails sported deep bubble gum pink polish. He swallowed hard, forcing his gaze back to hers.

The words had been said with no emotion, just a statement of fact from the Queen of Reason. Her face was expressionless, her eyes guarded. As always, an excellent poker player.

But she was holding her gun, finger on the trigger. A personal tic that betrayed her feelings. Flynn shifted his weight, fought the urge to step back.
At least the gun isn’t pointed at me…yet.

He turned the stove burner off and took a deep breath. “You’re right, Julia. It was a terrible thing to do to you, and I’ve regretted it from the minute I set off the detonator. But then it was too late. Smitty and I had set the plan in motion and I had to follow through. Now we’re here to explain what happened, what
is
happening.” He pleaded with her. “Give me a chance. Then you can decide whether or not to forgive me.”

Belying the anger Conrad knew was boiling in her veins, Julia took a casual sip of the merlot from her glass and set the glass on the counter. “I assume you found and neutralized the bugs.”

“Actually,” Smitty said sheepishly behind her, “we’re the ones who did the bugging.”

Flynn saw her cool slip a notch, saw the slight narrowing of her eyes, the almost imperceptible twitch of her hand. Shit, she was going to shoot them both…

“Okay.” She turned away and paused for a moment to let her attention sweep over the carefully dressed table. “I’m going to my room to change clothes and decide whether or not I’m going to listen to your explanation.” She glanced back over her shoulder at Conrad. “Don’t overcook my steak.”

Julia sat on the bed in her underwear and bra staring at the open closet. A T-shirt and a pair of faded blue jeans lay in her lap but she made no move to put them on. Her fingers played with the frayed fabric of one of the pant cuffs as her mind attempted to sort through the implications of the day’s events.

Conrad and Smitty had set up an elaborate scheme, one that had effectively ripped her world apart and set her on a reactionary course. She had run, with Smitty’s help, back to the safety of America, back to the CIA, and had adjusted to a new life. Only now, Con and Smitty had reappeared to rip this world apart too.

They had accessed her apartment, bugged it and her car, wired her phone, and probably even followed her around whenever it suited their purpose—whatever that was. They knew everything she’d done in the past year and a half.

Man, talk about slipping, I never knew they were here.

Having grown up with an abusive stepfather, Julia had learned at a young age the cost of showing emotion. Emotions were not to be trusted. Emotions got you another punch from a hard fist. Instead she learned to tap down the emotions so she could analyze and control the situation in her favor. She tried to focus on outcomes. She always had a choice. It just depended on what outcome she wanted.

The red duffel bag on the closet floor was packed. She could grab it and run. Running away always appealed to the ten-year-old inside her. The seduction of becoming someone else, living someone else’s life. Unfortunately she was on that path now, pretending to be Abigail Quinn. Abby had a comfortable life, but the truth was Julia wasn’t sure she wanted to be Abby anymore, and she definitely didn’t want to be on the run for the rest of her life.

She looked at the phone on her nightstand. She could end this before it went any further. Offer up Flynn and Smith like a sacrifice at the altar of Michael Stone to prove her worthiness. She actually owed the rogue agents nothing—they had used her, of that she was certain. They hadn’t trusted her with the details of their scheme, and now they were jeopardizing her place in the Agency, her relationship with a man who respected her and cared about her. Were they truly her friends? It didn’t seem like it.

And if Michael was right, it was possible she would be used as a scapegoat for the CIA. All her passion and devotion to her country easily reduced to dust and swept under the rug while she was made an example of what the CIA did to traitors in the post 9/11 world.

A shiver ran up her spine. She lifted the handset off the base and hit the first speed dial button.

Chapter Seven

Conrad shook his head and eyed the steaks. “You watch these and I’ll handle it.”

“Who do you think she’s calling?”

“Who else?” He sprinted toward the front door.

Michael answered the phone. “Director Stone.”

“It’s me,” Julia said.

There was a pause. “What’s up? You okay?”

Julia slumped down on the floor near the nightstand, resting her back against the wall. “No. Not really. I left things kind of…up in the air with you today. I want to apologize. I know you’re doing what you think is right. Trusting me has to be hard for you.”

A longer pause. “Abby, you must know by now that I trust you. I wouldn’t be involved with you if I didn’t.”

Julia shook her head at the empty room. “I don’t deserve your trust, Michael.”

A heavy sigh. “We’ve been down this road before. We’ve both done things in our past we aren’t proud of. Quit beating yourself up and worrying about stuff that happened before you came back to the States. Today counts. Our future together counts. This is just a bump in the road. We’ll get past it.”

Cradling the phone between her ear and shoulder, Julia twisted the wide silver band around the middle finger of her right hand. A future with Michael. That was an enticing dream, wasn’t it? A nice, normal life with a man who loved her. A man who knew about her past and wanted her anyway.

If only it could be that simple. If only she wasn’t still in love with her ex-partner.

“Don’t you remember last summer at the lake with Tom and Liz?” Defiance masked her fear. Bravado was such a nice defense. “That’s what life with me is like, Michael. You don’t want that kind of future.”

Tom and Liz Scofield were friends of Michael’s. He and Tom had known each other since their Corps days. Tom had become a family practitioner, meeting Liz along the way to conquering the American dream.

Now in their late thirties, Michael and Tom enjoyed sharing a drink and a cigar while they idealized Marine recon stories on board Tom’s boat. Michael had brought Julia to meet Tom and Liz and take a sail around the lake the previous July.

She had dodged Liz’s questions about her past and her relationship with Michael. She’d even managed to sound knowledgeable about HMOs and pharmaceutical companies during the hour-long ride. But when Liz pulled out a camera and began snapping pictures of her, she’d balked and abruptly left them all standing in an awkward silence.

Michael had sought her out below deck in the tiny galley. Julia remembered his words. “You aren’t Julia Torrison anymore. You don’t have to hide. No one is going to see those pictures besides the four of us. You’re not in any danger from my friends.”

That’s when she realized Michael would never understand. Paranoia had been drilled in her by the best spy in the business. No pictures, period. The point was non-negotiable.

Julia twisted the ring again and scanned the bedroom with unseeing eyes. Poor Michael. Nothing like having your girlfriend freak out in front of your friends over having her picture taken. But he was always willing to exonerate her, even at his own expense.

Movement by the door caught her attention and she looked up to find Conrad standing in the doorway with her purse and shoes in his hands. Their eyes locked for a second and then he let his gaze roam over her nearly naked body. She felt herself blush, even as her heart ached for him.

Conrad tore his ogling gaze away and walked into the room. Holy God, he hadn’t expected her to be sitting on the floor in nothing but a lacy bra and matching panties. Pink, no less, just like her suit and toenails. And he hadn’t expected to have to tamp down the flood of testosterone suddenly coursing through his body.

He dropped the purse on the bed and sauntered over to set the shoes inside the closet next to her signature red duffel. He knew she was keeping some of her clothes at Stone’s house these days, but she’d always left the duffel. She didn’t take that with her because she felt safe with Stone.

Why not?
he asked himself. What had he thought? That Julia would simply stop living, turn into a nun, if he wasn’t around anymore? That she wouldn’t find someone else—someone who appeared honest and trustworthy—to take his place? Christ, he couldn’t stand the thought of her with Stone. To Julia and the rest of the world, the man’s picture was next to
valor, honor
and
hero
in the dictionary. Only Conrad and Smitty knew the truth.

He turned away from the closet.

Julia’s gaze, naked now with pain and longing, was on him. He walked over to her and held out his hand.

“I take it you haven’t heard from Ryan Smith.” Michael’s voice sounded distant as blood roared in Julia’s ears.

She reached out and put her hand in Con’s, the familiar rough warmth sending electrical pulses up her arm. He pulled her to her feet. “No,” she lied, the words spilling easily out of her lips as she searched Con’s eyes. “I haven’t heard from him.”

“I’ll be leaving here in about twenty minutes. Are you sure you don’t want me to swing by and pick you up? It would give us a chance to talk about all this and come up with some ideas.”

Conrad was touching her now. His fingers in her hair, caressing her shoulder, touching her hip. Even though she longed to give in, she pulled back instead, dragging in a shuddering breath and shaking her head at him.

“Not tonight, Michael. If I think of anything important, I’ll call you.”

She could feel his disappointment through the phone line. “All right. I’m here if you need me, Abby.”

“Good night,” she said as Conrad lifted the phone out of her hand and placed it back in the base. He pulled her into his arms, bringing his lips down to hers, and this time she didn’t pull away.

The plates were pushed aside and they were starting the second bottle of wine. A Dave Matthews Band CD played in the background as the three kept their voices low over the dimly lit table.

Julia cut her gaze from one man to the other. “Well?”

Con refilled her glass. “Espionage against the CIA.”

She raised her eyebrows. “
That’s
what this is all about? Espionage against the CIA? Big whoop. In case you guys don’t know your history, that’s been going on since day one. Even our current administration’s dipped their fingers into it.”

“But this isn’t a simple case of direct sellout, Julia.” Smitty drained the last of the wine into his glass. “This is a multilayered, highly organized group working within the organization.”

“A shadow CIA. An evil twin, working to destroy it from the inside out,” Conrad added.

“You have proof of this?”

Smitty nodded. “Yes.”

“And here Michael and Susan thought it was all you.” Julia tipped her glass at Smitty. “With a little insider information from me of course. They showed me the tape of you entering the country on Tuesday to see what my reaction would be.”

Conrad raised his gaze from the swirling wine in his glass. “Did Stone recognize me?”

“Your disguise fooled him. At this point, I’m the only one you have to worry about.” She let the words hang in the air for a moment, before shooting Smitty a hard look. “You however are now on Michael’s Most Wanted List, right behind bin Laden. You’d best lay low…or go see him tomorrow with a damned good explanation for your disappearance.”

“We are not going to Stone,” Conrad said.

“Then I don’t know what you expect me to do. Michael trusts me, and I’m not going to blow that because you decided to run out on me and play maverick.”

Her ex-partner focused on his wine, and Julia could see the muscle in his jaw jump. His voice came out softly, confirming her own suspicion. “If he really trusted you, he wouldn’t be questioning your loyalty to the Agency.”

“Right.” Julia snorted. “You’re a good one to talk about trust. If you trusted me why didn’t you tell me what you were up to?”

“I was protecting you.”

“Oh, well thank you very much. I
so
appreciate how you waited for me to start living a normal life with another man before you waltzed in here with flowers and dinner, and expected me to welcome you with open arms. That’s bullshit, Con, and you know it.” She pushed her chair back. “Who the hell do you think you are, anyway, to judge Michael Stone?”

He looked at her over the rim of his wineglass. “I’m the man who gave up his life to save yours, Jules.”

“Everything we have is on here.” Smitty showed the CD to Julia before placing it in the disc drive. They were in apartment 1C, one apartment down and across the hall from hers.

She glanced around at the vanilla-colored walls and beige carpet, exact replicas of her walls and carpet
. How could I have failed to see them living right under my nose
?

The floor plan was almost identical to her apartment as well, but lacked furnishings and personal effects. A small table with two non-matching chairs in the kitchen, a futon and portable TV in the living room, a twin-size bed and trunk in the bedroom.

Unlike Julia’s place, a hub of computers and peripheral equipment dominated one corner of the living room. Scanners, a DVD read/write drive, listening devices, video equipment, a small fax/copy machine and a box of files covered the floor and nearby table.

“The shadow CIA has been giving out information that is crippling U.S. intelligence sources in Europe and putting our country in grave straits. We have uncovered a large portion of this network. Contacts, e-mail correspondence, a limited amount of money transfers.” Smitty’s long, slender fingers typed in a password and accessed a file on the disc. Ten seconds later Julia was staring at a database of names, cryptonyms, locations and operator contacts spread across multiple countries.

Smitty paged through the database. “However we don’t have the big man, the leader of the shadow organization. Not yet, anyway.” He turned to her. “That’s where you come in.”

“I can’t wait to hear this,” Julia murmured. Although her tone was sarcastic, the statement was completely true. Her adrenaline was starting to pump. It occurred to her the past year and half had been like suspended animation, predictable and comfortable. The lack of challenges giving her a false sense of security. While logic ruled Julia’s brain, she still loved adventure. A challenge. An unpredictable outcome.

Her brain was now reasoning, her heart now hoping, that Conrad and Smitty were actually going to produce a credible excuse for putting her through the previous seventeen months of hell.

She chanced a look at Con, who had been completely quiet since leaving her apartment. His eyes were shuttered as he returned her stare.

“I’m listening.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Start from the beginning.”