The Bibbona region, eighty kilometers southwest of Florence, was ideal for producing quality wines. The silty soil was rich in minerals and the weather was moderate, with a minimal variation in temperature during the long growing season. Harper’s estate was also ideally situated, facing west, which gave her grapes optimum sunlight and exposure to the gentle sea breezes.
She’d also renovated the two-hundred-year-old farmhouse, which had a glorious panoramic view of the Mediterranean. Built of stone, with dark wood beams and floors, the two-story structure now had an updated interior and modern conveniences, as well as a large gun safe where she kept her weapons. Outside, where she spent most of her off time when the weather was pleasant, was a large stone terrace with a massive brick fireplace that she and Pepo had built together.
Harper walked the short distance home and built a fire in the fireplace, like she did every evening, and relaxed before it with a glass of her own wine. Normally, Angelo would lie at her feet and she would occasionally pat him and talk to him about what needed to be done the next day, but now she quietly stared at the flames and listened to the trees rustle in the soft wind.
When Pepo had fallen gravely ill five years ago, he told her he would always be with her in the wind and in the leaves. Now, every time Harper heard that sound, she imagined him watching over her, giving her strength when she was tired and praising her when she managed to come back home in one piece.
Although the EOO held its operatives to strict privacy regulations concerning their work and involvement in whatever they were hired to do—they all were raised to conceal their identity—Harper had confided in Pepo. Living as closely as they did, it hadn’t taken him long to realize something was different about her. She would disappear for weeks at a time, sometimes returning beaten and broken, at other times distant or angry. At first, he thought it had to do with family matters, until she told him she didn’t have a family. Then he thought it involved a man, until she told him she was gay, and finally, when he thought it concerned health issues, she sat him down and told him the truth, or at least part of it. Harper didn’t mention the EOO, but she did tell him she worked security for an international private contractor.
Pepo vowed to never ask anything about her work or her physical or mental state when she returned from assignments. From then on, he would seat her by the outdoor fireplace, pour her a glass of wine, and talk about vines. Harper came to love him like the father she never had and considered him her family. When he died, a small part of her died with him, but she knew he would live on in the wine.
She heard a sound in the far distance, too brief to make out precisely what it was. She didn’t get up, but she did grab the shotgun at her feet. Here, up in the mountains, she would regularly spot a wolf, and although she’d never had any problems with the animals, other villagers had been attacked. She listened a while longer, then smiled and set down her weapon. “Hey, you missed the ceremony,” she said without turning around.
“I’m sorry,” Monica replied as she bent to kiss Harper’s shoulder. “I couldn’t get away from work.”
“I figured.”
“Are you coping?”
“I’m fine.” Harper tried to smile as the attractive blonde came around to face her. “You know how it is.”
Harper had met Monica three years earlier on a flight back to Italy from the U.S. Monica was in the olive-oil business and had her own production factory. They spent the whole flight talking about the differences between the tree and the vine and the similarities between the business aspects of selling. What had started out as a friendship soon turned into a sexually open relationship, and both were content with that status since neither had the time nor interest in anything serious or binding. Harper had come to care a lot for her but actually cared about their friendship, not the sex.
“I assume it won’t be long before a new Angelo comes running to greet me.” Monica sat on her lap.
“It wouldn’t be right to leave the vineyard without a Grigio Angelo.”
“We can go look together, if you want.”
“It’s something I do alone, you know that.” Harper massaged Monica’s shoulders and Monica leaned back into her. Maybe a good night’s sex session would help her out of the funk she was in.
“I just thought you might want company.”
“I do, but not for picking out a dog.” Harper kissed Monica’s neck.
Monica turned her head and kissed her. “Why don’t we go inside?”
“What’s wrong with here?”
The woman glanced around as if to make sure they were alone. “Nothing. Nothing at all,” she replied with a grin before attacking Harper’s mouth with her own.
Harper’s cell phone vibrated on the table next to them. She never had the sound on because she hated the meddling, annoying contraption. She checked the caller ID and sighed. “Give me a second, okay?”
Monica reluctantly got up off her lap. “I’m going to get a glass of red. How about you?”
“Sounds great.” Harper took the call as soon as Monica was out of earshot, answering, as she always did, with her code number to verify her identity. “Shield 29041971.”
“You’re babysitting.”
Harper appreciated the fact that EOO chief Montgomery Pierce didn’t waste words. “How exciting.” She didn’t try to conceal the irritation in her voice.
“You sound tired.”
“I sound bored. Bored numb with self-proclaimed VIPs. All of them, without exception, think they’re especially important to the human race. Meanwhile, they’re either as deep as puddles or as pleasant as a rash.”
Pierce didn’t laugh. “I assure you, this one’s different.”
“As in a whole new kind of skin condition.”
“As in highly significant.”
Harper arched an eyebrow. “Where are you sending me?”
“Washington, D.C. 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.”
“The Castle.”
“Be here ASAP for the briefing.”
“Is this about the attempt on POTUS?”
“Correct. Still bored numb?”
“Less so. I’m on my way.”
*
Southwestern Colorado
Next day, February 26
Shield hadn’t been back to the EOO headquarters southwest of Colorado Springs in six months. She’d gotten all of her recent protection assignments through intermediaries, since they’d all been brief details guarding dignitaries throughout Europe. Her plane was delayed, so she floored the rental car in order to make the briefing on time.
The sixty-three-acre EOO complex, set high in the snow-capped Rocky Mountains and adjacent to the nearly half-million-acre Weminuche Wilderness Area, looked much like a private boarding school except for the high razor-wire-top fence that surrounded it and other obvious and not-so-obvious security enhancements. The Elite Operatives Organization was still as virtually unknown to the world at large—with a few exceptions, Interpol being one of them—as it had been in its infancy more than sixty years ago. Its remote location helped shield it from outside scrutiny.
An array of squat red-brick dormitories and classrooms dominated the campus, but once Shield was admitted by the guard at the gate she headed toward the massive Neo-Gothic administration building, where Montgomery Pierce’s office was located, along with those of the two other members of the governing trio. Once she’d passed the retina and hand ID scan required to get inside, she rode the elevator up to the conference room where they held all their briefings.