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“In his early twenties he played professional soccer. Colombia didn’t have an Olympic team when he was competitive, and he attempted to make it onto Brazil’s World Cup team but didn’t succeed. Tore his ACL in his late twenties. Ended his soccer career, but he went on to pursue a multitude of sports. Completed an Everest Expedition in 2016. He’s a big scuba diver, base jumper.”
According to our intel, he’s traveling to Canada for heli-skiing with a group of friends. Bauer told us they don’t expect Fisher will get to make contact. The hope is his wife, who is new to skiing, will be grounded at the resort, and she and I will bond.
“I bet you can do all those things.” Fisher slowly nods confirmation. “You know, scuba dive, base jump.” His lips don’t smile, but I could swear there’s a glimmer in his eyes and smugness behind that beard. Yeah, I bet he can do all those things and do them well.
The Toros had a private house reserved. But a water pipe conveniently burst in the rental yesterday. The hope is they will take the alternative suite the Four Seasons offers them. Of course, we can’t possibly know what they will do. If they find a different resort, or choose a different place, this little op could end before it begins.
Fisher points the neck of his bottle at the monitor showing flight status. “We should leave in five minutes.”
Right. We have plenty of time to make it to our gate, and we’re flying first class, in case the Toro’s research how we arrived in Canada as part of a background check. The nice thing about first class is we can basically stroll on board. Once we’re on board, by mutual agreement, we won’t say much. On a plane, you truly never know who might be listening. Even if it’s an air marshal who might report us for sharing classified information on a flight.
But there’s one thing that’s been bugging me. I left the FBI because I ended up an analyst. It’s completely possible they felt I served the agency best as an analyst. But in the back of my mind, I’ve always wondered if my well-connected, protective father pulled some strings. When the CIA recruited me and promised to put me in the field, I jumped at the chance. And now, here I am, on my first CIA operation, and the man who spent years in charge of my security detail is my partner.
“Do you speak to my dad much?”
I watch him closely. My Aunt Alex specializes in behavioral analysis, and she taught me the signs of someone lying. He scratches his beard. Finishes his beer and sets it against the table with a clink. He looks me straight in the eye, hands on the tops of his thighs, elbows out. An open stance.
“Nope. I owe him a visit. Haven’t been great at keeping in touch. But you know, I consider him a friend.”
His tells are contradictory, but I’m inclined to believe he hasn’t spoken to Dad. If good ol’ Dad is behind this turn of events, my gut is telling me Fisher isn’t aware.
“You ready?” he asks in a way that says that line of conversation is over.
And now, I’m not so certain. Maybe Dad did pull strings. But, if he did, that’s fine. Bauer said this would be one week, two tops.
I should have down time to continue doing research for my project, which makes this an ideal assignment. Bauer doesn’t seem too hopeful I’ll crack Gemma Toro, as we’re the third team to attempt to reach her.
The results of this op won’t reflect negatively on me, or Fisher. It’s in and out.
CHAPTER3
FISHER
Years in the CIA have taught me to expect the unexpected. My current situation perfectly captures the sentiment. Never would I have expected for the teenager I once protected to become a colleague, or for us to check into a Canadian resort as husband and wife.
“Mr. and Mrs. Garcia, so wonderful to have you with us. You’ll be staying in the Summit Suite. Jordan will take you to your room. Please enjoy your stay with us. If there is anything we can do to make your stay more enjoyable, please don’t hesitate to let us know.”
Sophia smiles cordially. Her full-length scarlet coat drapes over her arm, and she surveys the lobby with a commanding air. It’s an aura I witnessed develop as she evolved from a skittish, skinny waif to a confident, driven college student.
This operation is surreal due to my partner, but it’s a run-of-the-mill intelligence assignment. Sophia is clearly enthused and eager, but at this stage in my life, I’d prefer a more strategic role. Instead of being an operative gathering intelligence, I’ve reached that stage where I would prefer to be shaping strategy. With luck, I’ll be promoted off this operational carousel soon. If this proves to be my last stint as an operative, then I have to say, posing as a wealthy, upper-middle-class American living slightly beyond his means and staying at the Four Seasons is an unbeatable last assignment.
Sophia is silent as Jordan guides us through the luxurious mountain resort, to the elevator, and to our suite. She doesn’t appear particularly impressed, but given the life she’s led, why would she be? The suite features floor-to-ceiling views of the snow-covered mountains and includes two bathrooms, a kitchenette, a den, two fireplaces, and a master bedroom with a balcony. Golden flames with a base of blue flicker in both the den and the bedroom fireplaces. There’s one king-size bed and a fold-out sofa in the den. Meets my needs and then some.
Our bags beat us to the suite, and both sit at the foot of the bed in the master bedroom. Jordan explains the Nespresso coffee machine and also shares that there’s coffee downstairs each morning. In the kitchenette there’s a selection of snacks, protein bars, wines, liquors, sodas, and waters. The room service dining menu is available twenty-four hours a day.
Sophia circles the room as he talks, listening politely enough but her slight frown tells me something doesn’t meet her requirements. But we’re here on the CIA’s dime, so I’m at a loss as to what her issue could be. I tip Jordan, and after the suite door is locked, I join Sophia in the den.
Her vibrant auburn hair shimmers in the sunlight streaming through the glass. The new color offsets her light blue eyes in a way that had every man we passed in the airport doing double-takes. When I first saw her sporting her undercover look, red instead of blonde, I’d been floored. She’s an attractive blonde, but as a blonde, she’s the kid I watched over. As a redhead, she’s a siren. There’s nothing remaining of the kid. Her arms are folded, and her fingers lightly flutter, as if playing a piano on her upper arms.
“Is something wrong?” If she’s upset about the beds, there’s no reason to be. It’s pretty obvious I’ll take the sofa.
“The Toros aren’t going to stay here. Surveillance got this wrong. They’ll insist on a private residence.”
“My last update said they have the suite two doors down.”
“They’ll change it when they get here. He’ll insist.” Her lips purse. Stubborn and defiant. Her dad had been damn lucky she’d been a pretty good kid because if she’d wanted to go wild, there’s not a thing he could’ve done to stop her. If she’d shown any interest at all, those college boys would’ve been lined up at her door.
I stroll over to the kitchen, checking out the liquor selection. I need a drink. It’s been a long, quiet trip to our destination. “If you’re right, they’ll still be around the property. And she’ll definitely visit the spa. They have reservations at the restaurant tomorrow night. So do we, at the same time. We have a week. We’ll bump into them. Want a drink?”
