3 Lies (8 page)

Merlin hustled to his side. “Brilliant. Look what we have here.”

Clint hauled up the net, so they could better admire the catch. He reached down to lift it from the bottom and saw the triangular dorsal fin.

Shark.

He jerked his hands away in one motion. The net fell and the fish slapped into the deep.

Merlin got a gaff hook from the rack and retrieved the net from the water.

“I’m sorry.”

“No matter. It was a Tiger Sand. The law won’t let you faff about with those.” He wandered toward the other end of the boat with his rod. “He’s not a keeper after all.”

Clint put the net and gaff hook away, then pulled his rod from the holder. Maybe that’s what Beth had decided about him: he’s not a keeper after all. Could he have been that wrong about her? He tossed his line into the water.

Paige had come to that conclusion. At least for a while. Why not Beth?

No. It was different with them. He’d have to hear that from Beth’s own lips before he’d believe it.

Just as he had from Paige.

But Paige’s latest news left his brain hazy. He hoped the sea air would clear it. But he needed more than that. He needed assurance.

The baby. The baby he’d wanted for seven years.

He needed to know if it was really his.

When Doug Bryant told Albert Moore about the missing agents, a silent alarm triggered throughout CIA headquarters informing officers on a need-to-know basis. Doug needed-to-know because he already knew. If he hadn’t confirmed the problem by looking up the old codes and gotten Chester involved, Albert would never have considered him for the investigation team. Nor would Albert’s nose now be an inch from his own.

“I told you to see me first.” Albert’s spittle landed on his chin.

He tried to remember if Posey used up the last of his sanitizer.

“Now I’ve got a Company investigation crawling up my butt that should never have left the department. Do you hear me, boy?”

A thick, blue vein writhed in Albert’s forehead like an engorged worm.

Doug took a half step back to avoid the saliva shower. “I’m sorry, sir. I did what I thought was right.”

“Right? Why I—”

Chester Spivey barged into the conference room with two other officers in tow. Albert’s tension splintered toward Chester. Albert attempted a smile, but it only made him look constipated.

He thrust out a hand in greeting. “Chester, it’s good to see you.”

“Moore.” Chester let the hand hang and turned to the pretty, black woman on his right. “You’ve met Natalie Warda. She’s assigned to head up the team to investigate this mess.”

Albert’s arm sank to his side. He outranked her.

Natalie nodded in understanding. “Albert.”

Chester motioned to the other officer, a wide man with thinning blond hair. “This is Simon Ferrell. He’s from Technical Operations. Doug Bryant, here, is also on the team. He can keep you apprised of the progress.”

“I’ll sit in myself,” Albert said.

Chester pulled out a chair at the long oval table’s head and sat down. “Nothing better to do before retirement, Moore?”

Albert was so close to retirement a taut breeze might blow him into a Florida condo. He started with the Company during high school. He’d been around long enough to witness the fall of Saigon, the fall of Tehran, and damn near both falls of Berlin. He ignored the question.

“As you wish.” Chester waved at the others to take seats. “This is a preliminary meeting to see what we don’t know.”

Albert took the chair opposite Chester on the other end. Everyone else filled in between.

Chester deferred the opening to Natalie. Her long cornrows bounced off her back when she moved. In a suit, bright yellow with a hint of orange, she looked like a black-eyed Susan in full bloom, every petal in control.

“We are investigating the possibility of an unauthorized mission based on the information found by Bryant—”

“Call me Doug.” His mouth lifted slightly at each corner as he splayed his arms over the backs of the chairs at his side.

“Found by Doug.” Her tempo didn’t slow. “We confirmed that the transaction codes on Doug’s report came from residual programming after the last upgrade, as suspected. There’s a separate investigation over in Technical Operations to find out how it was missed.”

“I’ll bet there is.” Doug’s knee bounced.

“Doug, please tell us what you have.”

He hadn’t expected to be called on so soon. He pulled his chair closer to the table. “My information indicates that ten agents are missing, and an investigation to their whereabouts is required. Unfortunately there’s much we don’t know.”

“Such as.” Albert had already heard this and seemed only to want to assert his authority over Doug.

“We don’t know the trigger event that caused the old code to run. We don’t know which agents might be missing. We don’t know if there really is a project. And if there is a live operation, we don’t know what it is or who’s running it.”

“That’s a hell of a lot not to know.” Chester said.

“Yes, sir. The priority in Technical Operations is to search every executable routine to find the source of our problem. Simon’s team has that ball.”

“Yeah.” Simon’s hand lay on the table, and he spun a pen around his thumb. “So far, all we have to go on is Doug’s reports. We need to find the programming routines that generated the report. Once we find the routines, we can see what the algorithms were, and we can see what events set this off.”

“What’s the ETA?” Albert pulled on his fleshy earlobe.

Simon dropped his pen. “We’re working non-stop.” He tugged at his necktie as if it were a noose. “You’ve got to realize the sheer magnitude of this. We have—what? Millions of lines of code. Maybe billions. Even running computer searches on it will take us a couple of weeks. If we’re lucky.”

Albert scooted back in his chair.

“Our priority is to find out who left the ranch and why.” Chester said. “I’m briefing the Director tonight. I need whatever you’ve got by eighteen-hundred hours.”

“Understood.” Natalie bit the inside of her full lip. “So far we have ten lines on a report that appear to represent ten missing agents. However this information got on the report, we must assume that the intent is hostile.”

“If these are missing agents,” Doug said, “why don’t the current tracking reports flag a problem?”

“Damn good question.” Simon lifted his chin at Doug. “We won’t know until we see the original programming. Or figure out which agents. The agents report in using different methods since the system upgrades, mostly due to technology changes. Passing information on the park bench has limitations.”

Natalie scanned the room. “Worst case, we’ve got an unfriendly operative running an unauthorized mission with our agents who are either complicit or completely unaware. Either way, we consider it a threat.”

“If we do have a rogue mission underway, then whoever the handler is, he knows how to avoid flagging the new reports even the old ones did kick him in the nuts,” Albert said.

Chester crossed his arms over his starched white chest. He looked past everyone as if he saw his meeting with the Director in play. From his stern expression, it seemed to be going badly.

“Doug, you’re in this only because you landed it.” Natalie said, “I’d prefer a more experienced officer, but we need to close the doors on this. We don’t know who might be running this operation, but based on your service record, we know it’s not you.”

“That’s quite a vote of confidence.”

“My job is to get this elephant back in the damn bottle not stroke a fragile ego. Your job is to trace out the assets, anything that might support a runaway project. Chester upgraded your clearance for this mission. Because of the national security implications, it’s a rare privilege. Don’t blow it.”

He saluted her. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Find out who’s out of touch in any way. Check on their credit cards, passports, cell service, the IP addresses for internet logins. Look for changes in pattern, any break from established norms.”

Doug swiveled to face Simon. “I want to see the programming in use now, so I know what an agent has to do to get listed as missing.”

“I’ll get that for you straight away.”

He turned back to Natalie. “I’m going to need some help. I want Posey Kong assigned to me for this project. He’s smart, underutilized, and not a contender in this case.”

“You got him.”

Albert burned. “Now, wait just a damn min—”

“He’s on the team.” Chester cut him off then spoke to Doug. “Keep him busy, don’t keep him informed.”

Doug stuck it to Albert intentionally. Opportunities like this were rare. He pressed his lips against his teeth to prevent his kiss-my-sweet-ass smile from ruining the moment. “Understood, sir.”

Natalie missed nothing. Her eyelids took on feline contours as she continued to glare at Doug. “Verify the hard assets. Cars, planes, houses, boats, house boats. Anything that sits, moves, flies or floats big enough to hold a body. If we do have ten agents missing, we don’t know if we’re facing ten operations or one. They could be strewn across the globe or sitting in Motel 6 waiting for a shipment of C-4.”

Doug put on his race face. “Geographically, how do you want me to proceed?”

“Start with domestic and work out from there until we get a tickle somewhere. A team from my office is working international first, and they’re assigned to help you in any way. They’re on a limited information basis, but they’ll have ready access to the data that you’re going to need.”

“Thanks.”

“You find anything so much as a whisker out of place, I want to know about it. Understood?”

“Understood.”

“That goes for all of you. And nothing about this gets discussed in any substantive way outside this core group. Is that perfectly clear?”

Assents met her from around the table.

“Very good. We meet back here at oh-eight-hundred hours. Chester.”

Chester stood and tugged up his pants with his belt. At sixty-two, Chester’s formerly hardened exterior had begun to soften. There wasn’t anyone brave enough, however, to state that fact out loud.

“I want you all to understand the importance of speed on this assignment. I’m meeting with the Director tonight, but he’s got a more important meeting before then. Specifically, with the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs.”

He paused to make sure that his words sank sufficiently deep. Doug’s knee started to jump again. Simon spun his pen once out of habit then laced his fingers.

“The truth is we don’t know what the hell we’ve got on our hands. It’s possible we’re dealing with nothing more than a programming snafu. Only people that don’t work with computers seem to think they’re infallible.” He moved out from behind the table and walked around the chairs. “But with ten of our agents, you could start a war. The Director needs to apprise the military about the potential security threat.”

He stopped in a position where everyone could look at him comfortably, everyone except Albert.

“If runaway kites have started a mission we can’t control, we may have bigger problems. More strategic assets may be missing.” His ten fingertips braced the table. “The Director is going to ask the Chairman to order a full inventory of our nuclear arsenal.”

Clint longed to spend the evening in cotton sweats with Louie snoring at his feet. Dinner anywhere with Paige counted as a mistake, But he particularly regretted choosing Bergans restaurant. While Bergans didn’t have a written dress code, they serviced the wealthy patrons of the financial district, and anything less than pricey business wear looked conspicuous. Instead, he hit their massive mahogany doors at seven-fifteen wearing cashmere, camel hair, and a scowl.

“Mr. Masters.” The maître d' intercepted him. “It was a pleasure to see your name on our guest list tonight.”

“Patrick.” He stopped short to keep from running into the small, bald man. “It’s good to see you. I’m dining with Ms. Lambert tonight. I’ll wait in the bar until she arrives.”

“But she’s already in the lounge.” Patrick’s many freckles brightened. He checked his watch. “I’m sorry, your table won’t be free for—”

Clint put up his hand to stop him. “I wanted a drink first anyway. Come find me when you’re ready.

“I will, sir,” Patrick said, and he disappeared into the lobby.

The wall separating the bar from the hallway was a combination of cherry wood and etched glass panels depicting the area’s historic sights. Clint peered through an etching of George Washington at Harvard Elm to locate Paige. An oval bar over thirty feet in length commanded the center of the room. Blue-leathered booths lined all four walls, with small tables of people buffering the zone between.

He’d called Beth once more before leaving home but still got her voicemail. He wanted Beth, her person, her sensory self, impressed once again upon his short-term memory before he saw Paige. But Paige was already in the bar with her back to him. With a flip of her hand, her dark hair flounced out from one of the booths.

A waitress cleared an empty wine glass from her table. He’d hoped to down at least one drink before he faced her again. Even in her condition, she apparently had the same idea.

He charged through the saloon-style doors like Wyatt Earp at high noon. The motion gave him an extra burst of energy which he could count on Paige to consume. She was his personal black hole.

He slid along the blue leather across from Paige without a greeting. Since the morning, she’d changed into a white silk blouse that draped in soft bands along her augmented cleavage. Another decision she’d made against his wishes. The diamond necklace he’d given her for their seventh anniversary dangled at the nadir.

He signaled to the waitress, a tiny blonde with a puppy-sad face.

“Hi, my name is Lexi. What can I get for you, sir?” A smile sweetened her appearance.

“Double scotch. Single malt. Neat. Paige?”

She didn’t look at the waitress or at Clint. “I’ll have mineral water.”

Ceiling fans stirred the airwaves and blew in morsels of conversation. Business deals. Job complaints. A birthday party. Drinking away the day. People on the prowl for money, sex, or both.