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He rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. He gets the humor in what he just dropped. “Seriously. We need you to go in as a team. We’ve got a new recruit who will play your wife. She’s really got the job here. You just need to pose as an older husband who brought his wife on vacation and ignores her. If our sources are right, they could bond. Become friends. Get her phone number.” Bauer grins before chomping into the cheesesteak. There’s a lot we can do with a phone number.
“But why me?” If I remind my boss I’m overdue for time off, I’ll sound like a whiner, but it’s a legitimate question. He has to have other officers he can assign to this.
He wipes his mouth again and rests his wrist against the edge of the table. There’s something more. I sense it.
“This new officer. She’s one we recruited from the FBI. We promised her she’d be in the field. She’s green. You’re the best pick to work with her. It’s an easy gig. The Four Seasons in Canada. It’ll be like a vacation. Good food. Wine. I wish I could go. Consider it a thank you for a job well done.”
Now I’m officially suspicious as hell. I have a military background. “Easy gig” is synonymous with “fool beware.”
“Why, exactly, am I the best pick to work with her?”
“You know her.”
I push the sandwich away and swipe a napkin across my beard. Bureaucratic BS drives me insane. Someone got something wrong because I spend zero time in Langley.
“The age difference between the two of you and our targets is similar. His new wife is American. Emigrated to Colombia as a child. Wealthy. It’s a perfect match.”
“Because of my age or because I supposedly know her?” Bauer’s riddles exhaust me.
“Don’t be like that,” he says, finishing up the first half of a foot-long sub. “You could do this in your sleep. It’s the easiest op imaginable.”
If he had a military background, he wouldn’t keep repeating that. I lift the top of the hoagie roll, checking to see how saturated with butter the bread is. “And who is this officer I supposedly know?”
“Sophia Sullivan. Didn’t I say that?”
As he digs into the second half of the greasy sub, I flip through the pages in the folder. On the back page, they stapled my headshot next to her photo. She doesn’t look any different from the last time I saw her when she was twenty-two years old and a newly minted college grad. The colors are off in the black-and-white still. Her light blonde hair appears to be almost ivory, and her light blue eyes are monochromatic. But I’d recognize that classic straight nose, porcelain smooth skin, and petulant, sulky lips anywhere.
The rest of the world last saw her primarily in photos from when she was fourteen years old, as that’s what her dad possessed and plastered everywhere when she was abducted. She wouldn’t be immediately identifiable to anyone who remembered the missing girl from twelve years ago. But she’s the daughter of a billionaire. He keeps his family out of the limelight as much as he can, but that’s not to say folks from her hometowns of Houston or San Diego wouldn’t recognize her.
“Why her?” When an officer is assigned to an undercover role, there are always reasons.
“She’s got the background to run in affluent circles. Nothing’s going to impress her or leave her speechless. She’s personable. And her specialty at the FBI was money laundering and South American cartels. We gotta use her somewhere. That was the deal.”
“The deal with who?”
“Her.” He reaches over and punches my arm. “Weren’t you listening? When we recruited her, she had terms. Now we gotta see if we can live with ’em.”
“And you picked me because I know her?” I play this all back in my head as he chews a bite that would choke a smaller man. “And because, I’m what…” I glance down at her birth date. “Nearly twenty years older?”
“You spent eight years as head of her security. No one else is going to stand a chance of recognizing anyone from her former social circle. If there are any run-ins, you can steer her correctly.”
I suppose the logic is sound. “Is she going to be in disguise?”
“We’ll do something.”
Sophia’s a good kid. But she’s also loaded beyond comprehension. Why would she join the CIA? We don’t exactly get luxe accommodations. I live in hovels on some assignments. It’s all about fitting in and living the cover.
There’s a rap at the door. Bauer sets down his sandwich and wipes his pudgy fingers. “Come on in.”
The door swings open. Sophia Sullivan stands in the doorway, canvassing the wood-paneled walls in the way a first-timer to the deputy’s office would. She’s wearing a black pantsuit, her blonde hair is pulled back tight, and her expression says she’s all business. There’s no trace of the young college student, although graduation day wasn’t that long ago. Four, five years ago tops.
“Come join us, Sophia,” Bauer says to her. “Let’s get through this.”
CHAPTER2
SOPHIA
Travelers crowd the Los Angeles airport. My palms sweat but my heart rate remains steady as I scan the crowd for any anomalies. Rushing to a gate fits within expected profiles. Someone standing, watching people as opposed to a television, or phone, or airport map might warrant closer analysis.
