So there they were, ordering drinks at a corner table in her first CIA bar. Skylar didn’t drink alcohol, so she passed on Tom’s recommended “Fierce” and ordered a club soda with lime. She figured the social slight would be outweighed by the upside of having an agent who didn’t drink but knew how to appear as if imbibing.
“This is your time to ask me questions,” Tom said as Wynter walked away. “What would you like to know?”
She had her first question tip of tongue. “Where would I be based?”
“This part of Virginia. Langley and the D.C. suburbs up north are for bureaucrats and analysts. Ops works out of The Woods.”
“The Woods?”
“The Woods surround The Farm.”
“Got it.”
“That’s for training and staging. Our operational work, of course, is overseas.”
Wynter dropped off their drinks but chose not to interrupt their conversation.
Tom took a healthy swallow of beer. “As you’ll recall, if it isn’t all a blur, the Dry Cleaners and Wet Wipes work off the books. We like it that way, removed from the restrictions, inefficiencies, and hypocrisies that always accompany bureaucratic oversight.”
Skylar squeezed her lime. “But you don’t live here?”
“What makes you say that?”
Without releasing her glass, Skylar used her index finger to point at the keys Tom had set on the table. “Your Mercedes is a rental.”
“Nice catch. I like that operative eye of yours. It will serve you well.
“My duties involve so much travel that I don’t bother with a personal vehicle. I skip the hassle and expense and charge everything to my corporate card. You’re going to love FIFO in that regard. Most of the operatives don’t own residences either, preferring to pocket more of their paychecks, but not all. Some want a place they can call home, and that’s fine too. It’s all about personal preference.”
Skylar saw the sense in that. She wanted a family someday, and felt the pressure of the biological clock in that regard, but until that time she’d forgo the knickknack mantel in favor of a bigger bank account. Having experienced rainy days, deluge days, she was eager to sock away as much as possible. That might actually be quite a bit, given that they let Tom rent a Mercedes. His Swiss watch was another good indicator.
Wynter returned to their table, holding her order pad. “Have you made your menu selections?”
Skylar ordered the Baked Brie Cheese in Puff Pastry with Grilled Shrimp, Tom the Macadamia Nut–Crusted Mahi-Mahi Fillet. “And another round,” he added.
Over their delicious dinners, Tom continued to tout the perks and bennies of FIFO. She was interested but already sold. By the time Wynter cleared their table, Skylar was dreaming of a warm bath, dimmed lights, and soothing music.
Tom finally read her mind. “I know it’s been a long day, so I’m going to leave you to enjoy dessert in peace if you’ll be so kind as to save the receipt. I recommend the chocolate lava cake.” He pulled two hundred-dollar bills from a money clip, creased them the long way, and left them tented on the table. “I’ll pick you up at the hotel at this time tomorrow. Then we’ll drive to either FIFO HQ or the airport. Your choice entirely. Until then, I have to insist that you have no contact with anyone—even if you’re not inclined to take the offer. We’re giving you twenty-four hours to reflect. Use it for that purpose, and Skylar—”
“Yes?”
“Congratulations.”
23
Role Reversal
I USED THE MIRROR behind the bar to watch Wynter working. She was holding my phone beneath her order pad in a manner that appeared completely casual and relaxed. While photographing car keys was hardly a crime, most people tensed up when acting surreptitiously. Not this one, bless her heart.
With her mission complete, Wynter slipped me my cell phone in a pass-by move that looked like she was leaving a check.
I opened up Photos, hit PLAY on the movie she’d recorded, and watched until I found a frame with the focus I wanted. The license plate number was hand written in pen on the Hertz tag.
Since Cheekbones and his latest victim had just placed their orders, I knew they wouldn’t be leaving anytime soon. I left my book and beer to reserve my seat and headed for the parking lot. I expected the Bluetooth transmission to cut out while I walked, but their voices kept coming through my wireless earbuds.
The matching Mercedes took a minute to find. Even though German cars were above most government pay grades, there were plenty of rich college kids in town, and the C 300 appeared to be a popular model with that crowd. I popped a GPS tracker under the rear passenger fender and was back on my barstool before Tom and Skylar received their orders.
The pitch Tom—certainly not his real name—was delivering was undoubtedly the same one Lars had heard. Most of it was fantasy, but all was close enough to the Hollywood portrayal of the CIA that outsiders would eagerly swallow it whole. Especially those hungry to hear their dreams coming true.
I was listening for information that could be identifying. Anything beyond the BS sales pitch. Some hint at Tom’s true purpose or the interests of his sponsoring organization. But when the talk wasn’t about the fictitious job, it was all about Skylar.
“How’d I do?” Wynter asked, stopping by my stool with empty plates in hand.
I used my watch to lower the volume on my earbuds and tuned Wynter in. “You, my dear, do excellent work.”
“I’m guessing this means that I won’t be seeing you again after tonight?”
“You’re a good guesser. But I’ll be back.” After closing, and only to retrieve my bug.
“Just not tomorrow?”
Technically, it would be tomorrow. “Probably not.”
“And tonight? Time to celebrate mission accomplished?” She ran a nail down her forearm.
“I’m afraid my mission is just beginning.” I produced a Ben Franklin I’d previously prepared. It was more than I could afford, but less than she deserved.
Wynter winked and straightened up. “Story of my life.”
I tuned back into my earpiece in time to hear Tom give Skylar twenty-four hours to think it over. Then he dropped some cash and a balled-up drink napkin and rose to leave. This was the point where I had walked in, two weeks earlier. There was no question of my sitting with Skylar as I had with Lars, but I had to decide which of them to follow.
I decided to play it safe and stick with Skylar. A man with Tom’s excellent tradecraft would be on the lookout for a tail, and I could track him electronically in any case. Skylar, meanwhile, was in immediate danger. Lars had disappeared sometime between his leaving Berret’s and my arriving in L.A.
Given what I’d just heard, the pickup twenty-four hours from now was likely to mark the beginning of the end. That would be the moment the metallic teeth of Tom’s trap snapped around her ankle. But I couldn’t be certain. The day he’d given her to think might well be a ploy designed to drop her guard.
Lars had stayed at the hotel across the street, so I assumed Skylar would be sleeping there as well. People followed patterns.
I waited until I saw the tracking dot representing Tom’s Mercedes move, then I rose from my barstool. I wanted to get ahead of Skylar. I assumed she’d be skipping dessert despite her host’s offer. That she, like me, was only waiting for him to drive off.