Spy High (15 page)

There was a cheerful thought. Not.

And anyway, Kane wasn’t the man I
loved. Well, okay, he was
a
man I loved. But not
loved
-loved. Not the get-married kind of love. And anyway,
even if I wanted that, I didn’t know if he was dead or alive right
now…

“Shut up,” I said aloud, and put the
car in gear again.

My cheeseburger and beer were
delicious, but they had lost some of their appeal. Even a thick
chocolate milkshake failed to salve my nagging anxiety. At the
internet café I plugged in my laptop and cell phone and pretended
to work, watching the clock’s hands crawl around the remaining
couple of hours with agonizing slowness.

At last they approached four o’clock
and I abandoned any pretense of productivity, staring blankly out
the window at the parking lot. A fresh-faced young man wearing a
bright scarf strode briskly from car to car, delving into his bulky
shoulder bag for flyers and tucking one under each windshield
wiper, but there was no sign of anybody carrying a box.

Four o’clock on the dot.

I frowned at the driveway, but no new
vehicles drove up. Where the hell was the courier? Shit, I hoped
the flyer guy didn’t notice him when he arrived. Maybe the courier
was delaying until the parking lot was completely devoid of
people.

The flyer guy sauntered toward the
station wagon, brochures in hand. He tucked one under the wiper of
the SUV beside it, then casually swung open the rear door of the
station wagon and deposited his bag inside. Pulling another handful
of flyers from the bag, he strolled off, leaving the door open
while he finished his advertising blitz and returned a couple of
times for more flyers.

Then he closed my car door leaving the
bag inside and strode away without a backward glance.

I sank my aching head into my
hands.

I couldn’t believe Stemp had entrusted
me with his parents’ safety. What a pathetic excuse for an agent.
Hell, I hadn’t even spotted the courier until he made the drop
right in front of my nose. What obvious clues was I missing at the
commune?

Trying to redeem at least some measure
of professionalism, I dawdled over the fictitious document on my
laptop for another twenty minutes to make sure nobody connected me
with the flyer kid.

My lips twisted into a sour smile. Even
if they did connect us, they’d probably think I was his mother
helping him with his delivery job. If only I had one-tenth the
deviousness in Stemp’s twisty brain. He was the consummate spy;
always calculating his moves three steps ahead of everybody
else.

I sighed and packed up my laptop and
phone. Maybe you just had to be born that way.

On the way out of town I made a
discreet stop at the recycling depot and ditched the burner phones
I’d used to contact Stemp. Moving over to the paper-recycling bin,
I scanned one of the flyers before dumping them, too. They
advertised a work-from-home internet marketing opportunity; exactly
the kind of nuisance brochure people would glance at and promptly
throw away. But no doubt it would be a valid website, at least for
a few days.

Behind the concealment of the bin I
examined the remaining contents of the courier’s bag. My new gear
was tucked neatly into a rugged-looking black plastic box in the
bottom of the bag, and a quick survey of its contents made me
breathe a sigh of relief at the sight of a typed sheet with ‘Hi
from Spider! Miss you!’ scribbled at the bottom along with a smiley
face.

Thank God, Spider had sent me a
cheat-sheet with instructions for the night-vision webcam and
headset. I made a mental note to do something nice for my favourite
techno-geek when I got home.

There were binoculars in the box, too,
along with a bird book. Built-in cover story. Thank you, Stemp.
Some more burner phones were packed at the bottom, along with a
spare laptop battery, the tranquilizer pistol, and a couple of
magazines loaded with trank darts.

Giving quiet thanks that the rest of my
team was more competent than I was, I took my spare phones, ammo,
and holsters out of my backpack and tucked them into the waterproof
box with the other gear before hitting the road.

About five miles out of town I pulled
over and pressed the speed dial on a secured phone. When Stemp
answered I said, “It’s Aydan. I got the drop. Thanks, and please
tell Spider thanks for the instructions, too. I just wanted to tell
you I’m pretty sure Skidmark is sabotaging the commune vehicles. I
know you said he’s harmless, but it could be dangerous if anybody
ever had to leave in an emergency.”

“Are you sure it’s intentional?” Stemp
inquired. “Skidmark isn’t exactly known for his intellectual
prowess. And those vehicles were old and unreliable when I was a
teenager.”

“True, but yesterday I caught him
purposely disconnecting the ignition wire on the truck, and today
all the spark plugs were taken out and locked up in the garage. I
don’t know; it just seems suspicious to me.”

“Very well.” If Stemp had actually been
human, I might have suspected that he’d sighed before continuing,
“I likely have blind spots where the commune is concerned, so I’ll
defer to you. Shall I put Skidmark on the suspect list?”

“N-… well, maybe…” I trailed off,
thinking. “He’s been there an awfully long time. You’d think if he
was going to harm your mom and dad he’d have done it a long time
ago… but…”

“But people change. And we both know
better than to trust blindly.” Stemp sounded weary. “I’ll consider
him a suspect.”

“Should I tell your mom and dad what
he’s doing?”

It was his turn to hesitate. “Perhaps…”
he said slowly. “If you can phrase it in a non-confrontational way.
After all, Skidmark isn’t a young man anymore. Decades of
recreational drugs… It might be some drug-induced mental issue, or
even dementia. Feel them out; see if they think he’s changed in any
way.”

“Okay. I guess that’s it, then.”

“Very well. I’ll wait for your next
report.”

About a quarter-mile outside the gates
of the commune, I pulled the car over beside the road where I knew
it would be invisible from Skidmark’s bench. Extracting the
waterproof box, I stuffed the empty courier’s bag into my backpack
and then stood studying my surroundings for a few moments.

A large rock jutting up beside the road
made a helpful marker, and I struck out from it at right angles to
the road, twenty long paces into the forest. There I halted and
took stock. My hiding place didn’t have to be perfect. The chances
of somebody walking by it in the next few hours were slim to none,
and I’d collect the box under cover of darkness.

I hefted it irritably. Another trip out
into the damn woods in the middle of the night. But I didn’t dare
try to smuggle anything into my tent in broad daylight.

I sighed and selected a likely-looking
fallen log. Digging my fingers into the moss at its base, I lifted
the moist green blanket and stowed the box in the hollow it
created. Then I draped the moss over top again and stepped back to
survey my handiwork.

Good enough to pass casual inspection.
I retraced my steps to the station wagon and slid behind the
wheel.

A few minutes later I rumbled into
Skidmark’s clearing braced for a confrontation, but it was deserted
as before. A quick inspection revealed that the garage was still
locked, and I stood weighing the ratchet in my hand for a
moment.

Then I turned back to the car,
grinning.

If Skidmark liked playing with spark
plugs that much, who was I to deprive him? I’d just put everything
back in the garage exactly the way I’d found it.

The first spark plug turned reluctantly
and I almost abandoned the idea. Normally I wouldn’t take spark
plugs out of a hot block. If I broke one off, it’d be a hell of a
job to get it out.

But there was so much old oil on these
ones, they came out slowly but surely. I transferred them one by
one out of the socket’s rubber insert and into the greasy rag,
using it to keep from burning my fingers.

A few minutes of work gleaned all eight
plugs, and I returned each empty boot to its allotted cavity and
closed the hood. I was crossing the clearing with my rag full of
spark plugs when the crunch of gravel under booted feet announced
Ratboy’s arrival.

When he caught sight of me a flush
suffused his neck and his brows snapped together.

I took a rapid mental inventory.

Ratchet in my hand. Not an ideal
weapon, but he’d notice if I nailed him in the head with it.

Glock in my ankle holster, but nowhere
to hide Ratboy’s body. Oh, and shooting him would blow my cover.
Technicalities.

Skidmark might come if I yelled for
help, but I wouldn’t want to count on that…

“You,” Ratboy ground out.

His conversational gambit wasn’t
followed by ‘whore’, so I waited.

Apparently he was attempting reasonable
behaviour. “Is the truck running?” he inquired tightly.

“No, Skidmark took the spark plugs out
of it.” I gestured cautiously with my greasy handful.

“You will put them back in now.”

It wasn’t a request.

I got a stranglehold on my temper and
kept my voice even. “I don’t have time just now. You go ahead.” I
proffered the rag in his direction.

His face went crimson. “You stupid wh-”
He drew a breath, glowering. “How?”

I laid the rag and ratchet on the
ground. “Eight wires. Eight plugs. Figure it out,” I snapped. “And
don’t mix up the wires.”

I turned back toward the car, ears open
for the scuffle of gravel that would indicate an incoming attack.
Instead, I heard the clink of ceramic and an exclamation that was
probably a curse.

“Be careful, they’re hot,” I added.

I ignored the resulting torrent of
incomprehensible invective and kept a close eye on him while I
retrieved my backpack from the car, but he seemed to have decided
to tackle the job instead of tackling me. When I left he was bent
over the truck engine and the busy metallic chirping of the ratchet
indicated he’d figured out where the spark plugs went.

Halfway down the road to the commune, I
hesitated. I likely should have emphasized the importance of the
firing ord-

A thunderous backfire made me
wince.

Yep, should’ve explained the firing
order. Probably not a good time to bring it up now.

I hiked on at a brisk pace, flinching
when more backfires exploded behind me.

Come on, dumbfuck, don’t keep torturing
that poor engine. Surely by now you’ve figured out something’s
wrong.

Apparently he was a slow learner. The
sound of backfires followed me all the way to my tent. At last they
ceased, replaced by the sound of distant shouting.

I dropped my backpack on my cot,
assumed my best innocent expression, and headed for the main
building.

I didn’t dawdle in the kitchen. I had a
feeling Ratboy might be a little cranky and I wasn’t in the mood to
find out for sure.

Moonbeam and Karma were eating at a
table in the corner, and I exhaled relief at the sight of them as I
slapped together a couple of sandwiches. Orion strode in just as I
was packing up, and I offered him a noncommittal wave and headed
for the door. When I glanced back, he was joining Moonbeam and
Karma.

That didn’t exactly reassure me.

But who knew, maybe he was just one of
those people who couldn’t bear to be alone. If he wasn’t shadowing
me, he’d latch onto them instead.

I really hoped it was that harmless.
But I didn’t believe it.

Casting a wary glance around me as I
left the building, I took the winding path toward the garden. As
soon as I was concealed from the building by a couple of bends, I
stepped off the path and struck out through the forest toward
higher ground.

When I discovered a vantage point that
gave me a view of the main building, I found a moderately dry stump
and hunkered down on it to wait. Munching my sandwiches, I watched
the commune members coming and going from their supper until at
last Karma and Moonbeam came out, Orion trailing them like a
faithful puppy.

Or a hungry predator.

I pulled my jacket tighter around me to
still my sudden shiver.

When they moved out of sight I rose and
charted a parallel course, moving through the forest as quietly as
possible and staying out of sight. I glimpsed them again at the
fork in the path, where Moonbeam and Karma headed for their tent
while Orion continued on alone.

Perfect.

I withdrew to watch as Moonbeam and
Karma disappeared inside their tent. When they didn’t reappear
after several minutes, I found a fallen log and made myself as
comfortable as its moist surface would allow. Keeping half an eye
on the tent, I let my mind drift while I idly whittled a stick I’d
picked up.

As soon as I could start using my new
equipment, my surveillance would be much easier. I’d have to make a
cache closer to my tent, though. Hiking a couple of miles every
time I needed something wasn’t practical.

And I needed to figure out how to get
the tracer onto Orion. And where exactly I could place it.

I knifed a vicious gouge in the stick.
Dammit, if I hadn’t chickened out this morning, I could have had
full access to him. Lots of excuses to touch him and plant the
tracing device at the same time. Or I could have given him some
fond little handmade gift and asked him to carry it with him and
think of me.

Instead I’d driven him away, and it
would be pretty implausible to cozy up to him now.

I gouged off a few more chunks of wood,
taking satisfaction in the razor-sharpness of my knife.

But would it truly be implausible to
cozy up? Could I claim I’d had time to think and I’d changed my
mind?

Orion had that slightly cocky air. He’d
probably believe I found him irresistible. But if I went that
route, I’d have to find a way to discourage him from following me
around. He was persistent enough as it was. After we did the
horizontal mambo he’d be damn near unshakeable.