Page 56 of Red Line

“Synchronicity, I guess. The world is indeed a small place when it comes to treasure hunters and conflict relics. There are only so many names on a list. The web is spun of fine silk.”

“Spiders, now, I see you’re following the theme of eight-legged creatures. I’ll bite,” Grey said. “What are we talking about?”

“Wajeeb sent me on the track of Moussa, who stumbled across Poole. Of course, I was looking for information about conflict relics, and Poole was a surprise. I’m thinking that means Poole has some connection with conflict relics, too, or why would he be working with the import-export guy that Wajeeb identified?”

When she paused, Grey repeated, “Keep going.”

“I’m looking at the phone from that guy I recognized heading toward the hotel. As an aside, someone collected Moussa’s from my hospital room. Black wanted it at Langley.”

“It arrived,” Grey verified. “They’re working on it. It was melted, but they might be able to get something. One cuff link down, one to go. It would probably help if I didn’t have my phone clamped between my ear and shoulder.”

“Probably.”

“Do you think this guy is someone that might prove useful?” Grey asked.

“Well, he’s dead.” Red scrolled back and forth through his texts. “So I’d say no. But his phone at least gives me a little explanation of why he was there in the explosion.”

“This is the ‘Wow. Isn’t that something?’” Grey asked.

“Mmm. Loose translations of the exchange go like this: ‘I found a phone in my office. I believe it belongs to my secretary, Moussa. I believe he’s been spying on me.’ The guy answers, ‘What shall I do about it?’”

“That’s true, correct?” Grey asked. “Your asset, Moussa did you say? Moussa hid a burner in his boss's office.”

“That’s my understanding. Listen, the boss answers, ‘He’s going to a meeting. I am tracking his phone. Stop him before he tells anyone about Poole. If you see him with someone, take care of it.’” What was that saying about nine lives? It looked like she’d used three of them that day—the typhoid, the bomb, and an assassin.

How many did she have left?

Ice dumped through her system as she remembered the drug-enhanced hospital dream that kept peeking around her consciousness and peering at her. She shook her head to reset. “I hope they put that phone in a Faraday bag. Otherwise, they’ll know the CIA is in the mix.”

“Protocol. So yes. Stop here. I’ll hold while you get the spyware on that phone. I want Langley’s AI to be culling that for any information useful to this mission.”

Red did as asked. “I got the green light. The data should be flowing to our targeters.”

“I’ll send a message to Black. So this guy in Lebanon was a hitman? And you honed right in,” Grey’s voice was congratulatory. “Good instincts.”

“Ah, but for the shits, I would have faced an assassin and a bomb.”

“Huzzah for the runs. Also, huzzah for the second cufflink achieved. I’m going to need to hang up to do the damn tie. But I called to make sure you were up and animated. Are you getting dressed?”

“I’ll be ready and downstairs in twenty minutes. If you can't get the tie, I’ll help you in the car.”

“Good enough. See you downstairs in twenty.” Grey ended the call.

Grey. He was good stuff. She’d always liked him. And he’d always had her back. Right from the very start when they met at the CIA training institute called The Farm.

As unlikely as it was for a woman at the CIA, Red had seen herself as a field officer from the get-go. That’s where she’d wanted to be, out using her languages, background, and gift of sitting next to people and having them spill their life stories and deep, dark secrets. All Red had to do was sit and nod, and the most remarkable things came out of people’s mouths. Since it had been such a natural occurrence in her life, as a teen, she’d been startled to realize that wasn’t true for everyone.

Her friends, figuring out this talent, would send her out to find out if “Jimmy likes me” or if “Bill cheated.”

And very quickly, Red realized that people didn’t want the truth.

They wanted to hear what they wanted to hear.

Friendships burned quickly. Luckily for Red, her father moved frequently from country to country and embassy to embassy for his job, so the losses and malicious rumors stemming from embarrassment or hurt feelings were short-lived pains.

She continued to use her secret powers; she simply didn’t talk about it.

In the context of her life, Red hadn’t thought it would have applicability.

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