Operation Sheba (7 page)

“And exacting the revenge he wanted for his father and uncle,” Julia murmured, still holding the small piece of paper. Unfolding it, she began to read.

The heading was the same as the previous e-mail, but the body of the message contained a list of six people’s names. She knew every person on the list, including the last one.

Hers.

Her breath stuck in her throat as she stared at her name. She dropped the paper on the table. “Holy Jesus.” She searched Conrad’s face. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Reaching out, he took her hands in his. “It was too late for me to stop the information from going out over Kramer’s network, Jules. Even if I had, you and the others were still compromised. I had to get you out of Europe and secured back here where you’d be safe. And I had to find out who sold you and the others out.”

She stared at him in disbelief. “How could I be safe here if the traitor was in Langley?”

“Your sellout wasn’t to fulfill a personal vendetta.” Smitty sat next to her on the couch. “Five other people were on that list as well. If the conspirators inside Langley had wanted to take only you out, they would have. An episode of misconduct could have been inflated to fire you, or, if they wanted you dead, they would have arranged an accident to end your life, and your life only, which would have been easy to set up while you were working in Europe.”

“But messy to pull off with you right under their noses,” Con added. “You were safer here than anywhere else we could put you. Plus, with you inside headquarters, we had a better chance of uncovering the person responsible.”

Julia sat immobile for a minute, questions bombarding her mind. She lowered her voice in an effort to control it. “Why was my name on the list and not yours, Con?”

Conrad exchanged a glance with Smitty. “I have no idea, but it would have only been a matter of time before my cover was blown too. The best thing for me to do was make everyone, including those inside the CIA, believe it
was
blown and I was dead because of it. I could then watch your back and continue pursuing the people who sold you out.”

Julia’s mind raced, trying to make sense of everything. A part of her wanted to throw herself into Con’s arms, tuck herself into his body for comfort, for the consoling protection only he could provide. But it had been too long since she’d found comfort in his arms. So much had happened in the last year, the last twelve hours even, that she felt out of sync, her mind and heart struggling to catch up. After squeezing his hands lightly, she pulled hers out of them, stood and walked away from him, trying to sort out the tangled logic. Love for him making the impossible choices he had made competed with the anger she felt over his arrogant manner of manipulation. Exasperated, her voice came out stronger now. “I understand what you did and why you did it, but I still don’t like it. In fact, I hate it.”

Conrad huffed out a sigh, but nodded once in acknowledgment.

Moving to the doorway, she leaned on the frame, ran a hand over her face. “Germany. Now I finally understand why you were always running off to that hellhole. God, I hated that country. Do you know how many nights I laid awake in our bed in Paris wondering what you were doing? I imagined you sleeping with a beautiful young
fräulein
or, worse, lying dead in an alley somewhere.”

Conrad still said nothing, but his eyes were sad, watchful.

“Then came the bomb,” Julia went on. “Synchronized watches and an explosion that happened two minutes sooner than planned.” She shook her head. “Me, sitting helplessly inside the car, my body in shock, my mind totally unsure of what had happened. I prayed that night, Conrad. I prayed you’d come running around the corner any second and I could breathe again.” She took a deep breath and blinked back tears. “But I knew, deep in my gut, you were never coming back. And it was my fault. I built that bomb and it went off early.” She steeled her attention on him. “I thought I killed you.”

Julia could see him visibly struggling with shame and guilt. His gaze went down to the floor, came back up to hers. Was it a silent plea for forgiveness she saw in them or only weariness? Before he could speak, she cut him off. “Only, my bomb didn’t kill you, just my
life
with you.” She wiped an errant tear off her cheek. “I want to be angry with you and this wicked deception you pulled on me, but all I can feel is sadness and regret lodged right here.” She tapped her chest with a fist. “You sacrificed your career and your life to save me, so it’s hard to feel self-righteous after that, but your betrayal has still broken my heart all over again.”

Conrad moved for her then and she held out a hand to keep him back, but it didn’t work. As soon as he grabbed her, the fight in her dissolved. She stiffened only slightly as his arms went around her and his grip tightened. He kissed her forehead and stroked her hair. Tears fell from her eyes and soaked into his shirt.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

If she tilted her head up, she could kiss him. For a moment, Julia actually considered it. The kiss they’d shared that morning in Michael’s bed had been surreal, weird, almost frightening. The kiss earlier in the evening in her bedroom had been shy and left her with a miserable ache of need. Miserable but desirable at the same time…she wanted to feel his lips again, wanted to suck the heat from his body and the tongue out of his mouth…and…

In the background, Smitty cleared his throat. Loudly. Julia moved back and drew in a ragged breath. Conrad looked down at her, his eyes grave and watchful again. And maybe a little heated, but now was so
not
the time to be thinking about kissing Conrad.

Smitty shuffled papers on the coffee table and tried to look like he hadn’t been watching them. Julia stepped away from Conrad and set her focus on Smitty instead. It was easier to control her emotions if she wasn’t looking at Con. It was easier to think. And she definitely needed to think.

“So, Michael was right when he told me Con’s death was not my fault.” She was pleased at the matter-of-factness in her voice as she spoke to Smitty. “But he was wrong about me being safe. Someone, possibly an intricately woven group within the Agency, sold me and four other case officers out. I survived, but that doesn’t mean I’m not still a target. Why? Why would someone give five case officers up to a sure death sentence?”

“Power, money, vengeance.” Smitty shrugged. His neck was slightly pink and he kept his gaze on a paper he was holding. “There are endless motivations, but we think power is the key here.” He chanced a glance at her.

“Not money? They usually go hand-in-hand.”

Smitty shook his head. “My money tracers have found no significant exchanges of money by the key players. No red flags in offshore accounts.”

Conrad crossed to the futon. “Everything we’ve found, all the evidence we’ve gathered supports an eloquent power play, orchestrated by someone deep inside the Agency.”

Power. A freaking power-grabber had done all this damage. Sudden anger flared in the pit of Julia’s stomach. She wasn’t good at playing the casual victim, had already done her time in that role. Ditto for turning the other cheek.

Her anger morphed into steel-edged resolve. “How do you know there’s more than one person involved?”

Both Conrad and Smitty looked at her, measured hope in their eyes.

Smitty pointed to the computer. “We have evidence showing the S&T and INTEL directorates have been involved along with Operations. It’s minimal but there.” Science and Technology and Intelligence were the other two main directorates of the CIA.

“How did you obtain that information?”

Smitty glanced at Con and back to her. “I was running the European operations long before I officially received the title. Since I knew what to look for, I kept a close watch on all the agents and operators, and used all of my assets in the field to figure out how far this operation went. I uncovered a cache of info from several reliable sources outside of the Agency.”

Conrad cleared his throat. “And some of it came from a source on the inside who’s been helping us.”

She drilled him a look. “You already have someone inside Langley helping you?” She knew the answer to her next question, but she asked it anyway. “Then why do you need me?”

Her ex-partner’s gaze was back on the coffee table. “Because you’re the one sleeping with Michael Stone.”

Silence hung between the three friends with crushing weight. So now she had the truth. Julia swallowed the lump tightening her throat and persisted. “Who’s your source on the inside?”

Smitty smiled at her as if reasoning with an irritable toddler. “Julia, you’ll be more effective to us if that person remains anonymous to you. Think about it. If you’d known about our operation, known that Con was alive, you wouldn’t have penetrated the Agency as well as you have.”

Penetrated the Agency
. Julia stared at a spot on the far wall.
What a polite way to say shagging the boss.
She crossed her arms over her chest and put a hand over her mouth. There she was not a minute ago thinking about kissing Conrad and completely forgetting about Michael. What was wrong with her?

It was getting harder and harder to keep things straight. Once again, she reached for the safety of logic. “Why not take the information you have and give it to the DCI?”

Titus Xavier Allen had been the charismatic Director of Central Intelligence for a brief five years. A former spy once in love with the clandestine side of the CIA, he was now the sixty-five-year-old DCI in love with the Hollywood side of government. Tailored suits, dinner parties and vacations in the Keys held more seduction these days than running agents.

“Not until we have absolute proof about who’s in charge of the rogue operation.” Conrad vacated the futon and went to sit in front of the computer. His fingers poked awkwardly at the keys. “We have incriminating evidence, but if we take it to Allen right now, he’ll sweep it under the rug. The last thing the DCI wants is to face a congressional committee or the Justice Department over improper conduct by the agency that has made him into the man he is. Plus, his buddy, the president, might get a little miffed if anything further damages his popularity poll ratings. Titus is one of the prez’s favorite cronies.”

A nearby HP laser printer began to hum. “Once we get the last bit of proof we need, we’ll give it to the DCI, along with the president, the Inspector General, and, of course, the press.” Conrad paused and looked at her. “We’re going to burn this bastard’s ass and everyone helping him.”

Fear, like an icy finger, ran across the back of her neck. Conrad already knew who had put her life on the line, she was sure of it. “Who do you think the bastard is?”

He picked up the paper the printer had spit out and sat looking at it. She could see him struggle with the impending disclosure. “Is it that bad?”

“Just remember, you wanted the facts, Jules.” He refused to meet her eyes. “Here’s the facts, in black and white, just the way you asked for them.” He pushed the paper he was holding across the table to her.

Unable to resist the magnetic draw of the answer, Julia grabbed it. Thirty or more CIA employee names were listed with their corresponding code names. There, in amongst the benign, was the identical code name on the e-mail that had changed the course of her life.

Director of Operations, Michael J. Stone. Her knees buckled.

Chapter Nine

The wind chimes outside the patio doors clanged gustily in the wind. Julia sat on the floor, arms wrapped around her bent legs, watching the wind blow sheets of rain across the cracked concrete patio.

She had sought solace in her apartment, locking the door behind her and leaving the lights off. An attempt, Flynn knew, to keep him out so she could hang her head and lose the control she had been fighting so hard to keep after learning of Michael Stone’s betrayal.

“No. It wouldn’t help.” Her voice sounded steady and yet still smart with emotion. “You’d be lying. You’re not sorry it’s Michael.”

“But I am sorry the asshole did a number on you.”

Julia’s eyebrows rose as she calmly accused him. “The pot calling the kettle black.”

Conrad clenched his jaw to fight back a response that would only get him in deeper shit. He couldn’t win this argument. No sense trying.

Julia, sensing his refusal to argue, shook her head mildly and ignored him again. A crack of lightning, the follow-up roll of thunder a few seconds later. Long minutes of silence.

Conrad shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Damn this sucked. He wanted her to lash out at him, yell, slam a door, cry in his arms again—like that hadn’t freaked him out a little, she never cried, but even that was preferable to this sudden silence—do something to blow off her anger and hurt. Then he could help her. But this…this withdrawal wasn’t healthy. The emotions would detonate inside her.

Maybe he should get in her face, argue with her until she broke. Tell her why he wasn’t like Stone. She would break, he knew that, and he damn sure would be there to pick up the pieces this time. “You have to talk to me, Jules.”

“No, actually, I don’t. Leave me alone. I need some time to think.”

“I have more information, more proof, if you want to see it.”

Julia cut her gaze to him as the rain continued to pelt the concrete. “I’ve seen and heard enough. The less I know, the more…how did Smitty put it? Effective? Yes that’s the word. The less I know the more
effective
I’ll be in your little sting operation.”

“So you’re going to help us?”

She snorted. “Do I have a choice?”

No
, he wanted to say, his need for her help almost as bad as his need for her forgiveness. At the same time he felt compelled after what he’d put her through to give her an out. “You always have a choice. I can’t force you to do this, to work with me.”

Her body tensed and he knew he’d said the wrong thing, although he wasn’t sure why it was wrong. Her help was critical to the success of the operation, but he didn’t want to push her into a corner. It would only backfire on him.

Her attention went back to the night outside the door. “What if,” she said, her voice controlled, deliberate, “the roles had been reversed seventeen months ago? What if you thought I was dead, Con, and it was your fault?”

Taking a step back, he let his back slide down the wall on the west side of the patio doors. He let himself think about it for a moment, but a moment was all it took. “I’d have gone crazy.”

Her response was just as quick. “But you’d have survived, just like I did.” And accurate.

Lightning flickered, illuminating Julia’s body with a blinking, strobe-like effect. The green eyes were black, her lips set in a grim line. Behind her set face, he knew she was coming to grips with Stone’s betrayal. With her current situation. With his request for her help. He watched as she continued to stare out at the night. She was right, they were survivors. Whatever the outcome of this operation, they would both survive.

He waited for her to tell him that. To assert that she would be fine. But silence was all he got.

That’s all right,
he thought.
Take all the time you need, love. I’m not going anywhere. I’m never leaving you again…

She was gone.

Cursing himself, Conrad bolted upright and blinked, forcing his eyes to focus in the deeply shadowed kitchen. He shouldn’t have fallen asleep, but Christ, his body needed more than the five hours he’d had over the last two days.

Skirting the table still clogged with dishes from the evening’s dinner, he made his way down the hall toward her bedroom. His heart was thumping, adrenaline lifting the sleep-induced stupor that fogged his half-dead senses.

Thunder echoed in the distance.

Please, God, don’t let her be gone.

The bedroom door was ajar. Slipping his fingers around it, he held his breath and edged it open. Like the kitchen, the bedroom was nearly black but he found her form shrouded on the bed under the sheets. She was sleeping. He silently exhaled and rubbed a hand over his face.

Life with Julia had never been easy, but then he had never opted for easy in his life. To him, nothing easy was worth having. Challenge was what made his blood flow, his pulse pound.

Conrad Flynn had a superior operational mind and the balls to put his ideas into action. Intelligence mixed with cool logic and hyperawareness made him excel at everything from running agents to troubleshooting tickets for a sold-out game. Always ready for the next opportunity, he was an artful and cunning risk-taker. He loved the game and he loved to win.

In the
007
version of the Intelligence world, Flynn was an outstandingly good spy.

The problem was he had fallen in love with Julia Torrison, his opposite in ways the Myers-Briggs assessment test couldn’t begin to measure. And although her scope of assignments had been more limited than his, she was operationally his equal. That had caused just a few problems.

Being a good spook was the antithesis of being a normal person. Those who excelled at flirting with terrorists, assassins, drug dealers and the rest of the Earth’s scum usually sucked in the everyday departments of spouse, parent or friend.

When Julia had arrived at the Farm for case officer training, Conrad felt a pull toward her like a primitive force driving him to distraction even when she was out of his sight. He tried to convince himself his obsession with her was nothing more than physical attraction, but over the six months she was a student in his care, she became more than just a wicked form of Venus seducing him nightly in his dreams. She thrived on risk, stared down the impossible with confidence. Even through the paramilitary training he wrongly believed would break her, she was charismatic and fearless. Tough as nails.

A combination he found unable to resist.

The seduction was mutual, and when the moment finally came, Conrad found that possession of Julia’s sweet body had nearly made him weep. The smell of her hair. The taste of her skin. The curve of her hip. The feel of her heart pounding in rhythm with his. Every piece of her took him to his own version of heaven.

Sex momentarily satisfied his physical need for her, but he realized immediately after the act was done that making love to her body wasn’t enough. He wanted to tease and caress her mind as well. For the first time in his life, he’d found a woman he liked talking to. A woman he liked listening to. He couldn’t get enough of her.

They’d both finished with what the Farm offered and Julia was graduating the next day to begin her career as a CIA case officer. Conrad was returning to Europe to deep cover. “I’m leaving for Paris in two days,” he told her as they’d walked the footpath along the river. He’d stopped her forward motion with a hand and when she’d looked at him, he’d been struck again by the strength he saw in her eyes.

“There’s an opening at the Embassy for someone with your skills.” He hesitated, searching her face, for what he wasn’t sure. “What do you say? Do you want to come with me?” After the question was out, he was afraid to breathe, afraid her answer would destroy him. She took her time, her gaze raking over his face as though she was memorizing every detail and choosing her words carefully.

As she’d leaned in close, her smile was full of smug satisfaction. “I’m already packed.” She’d pulled his head down and kissed him.

Conrad rubbed the kink in his neck. No, life with Julia had never been easy, but life without her was like filling his lungs with water instead of oxygen. Drowning in the murky depths of the ocean, while watching the life preserver float just out of his reach.

He wanted, needed, to breathe her brand of oxygen again. It didn’t matter that his gut, his mind and his best friend told him he had to eliminate the rogue leader of the CIA. He needed his ex-partner to tell him. Needed her to confirm what he was doing was right.

Her voice floated quietly across the dark divide between them. “Do you know what Hell is like?”

He stood motionless, considering the question, unable to come up with a suitable answer. What he knew about Hell was SEAL training, BUD/S to be exact. Followed by the Agency’s Special Activities Service. Further down the road and the worst hell of all, was Julia sobbing from the exact spot she occupied now, grieving over him while he sat listening, unable to console her, two doors away…

The shrouded figure moved, shifted into a sitting position. “Sister Marjorie—she was my Sunday school teacher—she told us Hell was hot, that it would burn our skin and our souls for eternity. But she was wrong. Hell isn’t hot. It’s cold. Absolutely, mind-numbingly cold.”

God, he couldn’t stand not touching her. He took a chance and moved toward the bed. When she didn’t tell him to stop and didn’t bolt away from him, he squatted down next to her.

“I know you’re hurting, Julia, and I know it’s partly my fault.” He reached out and ran two fingers across her cheek. Silently praying for a second chance, he let his hand sweep under her ear and into her hair, enjoying the soft feel of the dark tendrils. The round of her skull fit like a puzzle piece into his cupped hand. God, it had been too long. “I’m sorry I screwed things up between us, but I swear, if you’ll let me, this asshole will do whatever it takes to make it right. I’ll swear to it on a hundred Bibles.”

Julia stared at him in the dark for several heartbeats. “Technically, swearing on a hundred Bibles is no different than swearing on one.”

Conrad dropped his hand. “Why do you always do that?”

“Do what?”

“I’m pouring my heart out here—which I’d rather cut off my left nut than do—but I owe you big time, so I’m trying to be…”—he fought his brain for the right word—“sensitive.” A shiver ran through him. Jesus, this woman could un
man
him faster than Dr. Phil. “And you completely blow it off to point out some philosophical technicality that makes me look like a dumb ass.”

He saw the flash of her teeth in the dark. She was laughing at him. “You’re kind of cute when you’re mad.”

Cute?
Cute?
“Julia.”

“Shut up and kiss me, you sensitive dumb ass.”

That stopped him. But only for a microsecond. His lips found hers like a heat-seeking missile. She was pulling him to her and he sat on the bed, his hands on either side of her bracing them both up. Her hands were under his T-shirt the next second, and,
Jesus
, the feel of those soft, slender, cool hands combined with her wet, hot tongue in his mouth after all these months…
bam
, flashpoint. He wanted her—needed her—now.

Hugging her to him, he started to press her down on the bed, but she pulled back, lips, hands, everything. He tried to follow her lips with his, but she stopped him with her hands on his chest. Pushed him back.

“That was…” She drew in a deep breath and let it out. “Nice.”

Nice? Conrad sat up and tried to get his brain back on track.
Nice?
“What’s wrong?”

“I need some sleep. You need some sleep.” She patted his cheek. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Conrad sat farther back and eyed her with suspicion. He didn’t understand what had just happened. One minute she was sucking his lungs out and the next she’s telling him his kiss was nice—
nice? there was absolutely nothing
nice
about that kiss
—and then she came up with she needed some sleep? Conrad rubbed his face with a hand and tried to slow his pulse. Julia was dicking with him. Pulling his chain. Jesus, he
was
a dumb ass. First-class.

Okay, score one for Julia. He could deal. No problem. “Sleep’s good,” he muttered, setting his hands on his thighs so he wouldn’t grab her and kiss her again.

“We’ll talk more tomorrow.” She sounded a little too cheerful.

He sat there for a minute, purposely slowing his breathing. Julia would be going back to work tomorrow. Back to Stone. He turned his face to look at her again. “You do forgive me though, right?”

She sighed, with unusual dramatic flair. But then she leaned forward and pointedly stared at his mouth. He moved in, ready for the kiss that was coming…

Her breath fell lightly on his face. “I’ll think about it.”

She flashed him a grin and he knew he was had. She sat back, tugged at the covers and practically tossed him off the bed as she slipped down into it. “Now get out, Flynn. Go do good somewhere else, and let me get some sleep.”

He could hear her giggling into her pillow as he walked out of the bedroom.