AllFreeNovel
Share Us
His head jerks. He gets it. Of all the people I could run into, Trevor’s a good one. He’s one of the Arrow Tactical Security founders. We worked together for years. He mostly manages the training, keeping all the men up-to-date and fit. Arrow works covert ops for the CIA, FBI, and a few other government entities. He’s fully aware I switched sides and joined the CIA about five years back. He’ll play it cool.
“Where’re you staying?” I ask.
“Fairmont.”
“You?”
“Four Seasons.” Small talk drivel. It’s going on all around us.
Trevor and I shuffle onto the platform of the gondola and pile in with all the other eager skiers and boarders, five to a bench for the morning rush. A balding Australian asks if anyone will mind if he plays some music. We all shake our heads while his daughter whines, “Dad.”
“I live to embarrass her,” he says with a good-natured chuckle. He’s directly across from me, so I’m in the line of conversational fire. “We’re up from Brisbane. Love it here. What about you?”
Trevor answers first with a quick, “California.” It’s a damn good thing our cover story is similar to our real story.
“California too.” And I add, “But I didn’t realize this guy was also vacationing here. Haven’t seen him in years.” Lest he heard us in line, I offer up the explanation.
“What a small world, isn’t it? We got a text from a friend that a colleague’s sister from Sydney is here this week too. Haven’t bumped into ’em yet, but that’s bonkers.”
A young twenty-something boarder decked out in bright orange and turquoise leans over. “Someone told me they call it Aussie season here. So many of you guys come up around now.”
“Is that right?” the Australian man responds.
The conversation evolves into a discussion of the workforce on the mountain, and all the countries represented. Trevor pulls his phone out and texts Stella. He’ll know to keep it low key, but I make a mental note to remind him to be sure to tell Stella to pretend she doesn’t recognize us if we see her out and about. There’s no reason to introduce Trevor and Stella to a man being groomed to lead a Colombian cartel.
I pull out my phone. It’s my work phone, and I consider texting Sophia. If anyone were to see me texting, it would add to the construction of our cover. But I’m not sure what to text. I lean over to read Trevor’s text to his wife, Stella. He’s just coordinating the time and place to meet her for lunch.
That makes sense. A husband and wife on vacation would meet up for lunch if possible. Sophia and I need to be hanging around the lobby this afternoon.
Damian to Sophia:
Meet at 1 in Braidwood Tavern for lunch?
Sophia to Damian:
K. How’s the snow?
Damian to Sophia:
About to head out. Ran into an old friend. Will tell you later.
We approach the mountaintop, and everyone in the car begins fussing with gloves and goggles. I slip my phone into my jacket pocket and lumber in my ski boots onto the platform.
Skis on, Trevor and I head away from the others and pause near the trail map board.
“Who’s Sophia? Colleague?” Trevor scans the crowd, wisely asking in a hushed tone. To a casual observer, we’re two friends planning our track down the mountain.
“She’s my wife.” It feels odd using that term for Sophia, but you never know who is listening, even when it feels like no one can.
“What?” He whips around and bumps my arm.
“Shh.” I hiss. “Work.”
“Ah. Because I know I would’ve heard about a wedding.”
“Yes. You would’ve.” We have documentation, but there was definitely no service. Although, interestingly, in our back cover folder, and on our phones, there’s a folder of wedding photos courtesy of CIA magic and a platinum band on my finger that fits but I’m still getting used to.
Trevor taps me and points. “Let’s head that way. Go through Overbite then regroup.”
