Page 83 of Trapped With the Secret Agent

“The nuclear bomb,” she clarified with a shake of her head.

He flashed a courteous smile at her. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Ma’am.”

“But I saw it. Peter said—”

“Ma’am,” he said slowly. “There was never any such weapon in this country.”

Georgia stared at his polite smile and hard eyes. She’d seen this expression on Peter’s face. It was a warning to stop.

Cold fear swept through her in a rush as images of the worst that had happened in Koutu filled her head. “No. Of course, there wasn’t.” she pinned a small smile to the corners of her mouth. “How silly of me.”

“Think nothing of it.” He nodded with all the graciousness of a king granting a boon to a favored subject. “Easy mistake to make. Happens all the time.” He walked away.

Georgia watched him leave, the bottom of her stomach somewhere in the vicinity of her ankles. “It does?”

***

The next day she andthe rest of the embassy staff got on a plane headed for home. More than one person had tears streaming down their faces. Georgia surprised herself by sleeping through the entire flight to Washington. She floated, dreamless, until the jolt of the plane’s wheels touching down on the runway jerked her back to consciousness.

She waited till everyone who could, got off, then slowly walked down the aisle to the exit. After moving aside to let a half dozen medical attendants through to those injured bad enough to need assistance, she stuck her head out the door. Bright sunlight blinded her momentarily, forcing her to screen her eyes.

This was odd, the plane wasn’t parked at the terminal.

A myriad of emergency vehicles surrounded the 747, lights flashing. People in police, medical, and military uniforms swarmed everywhere with several men in dark suits peppered in for variety. The gray tarmac appeared to go on forever.

“Ma’am, can I help you?” One of the suited men came up the steps, his hand extended. Georgia hesitated only briefly before taking it.

“Thank you.”

He let her go as soon as her feet touched cement but didn’t move away. A woman with a clipboard in her hands came up to her. “May I ask your name?”

“Georgia Masters.”

The woman glanced at her paper.

The man who’d helped her looked at her sharply.

“Do you need medical attention?” the woman asked.

Georgia thought about it. Well, she could walk. Did she need to see a doctor for bruises and scrapes? The doctor at the base had checked her over already. He’d pronounced her fine.

“No.”

The woman stared at her; one eyebrow raised.

Georgia tried to smile. “I’m sorry. I’m very tired.”

That seemed to satisfy the woman and she nodded. “Ok.”

“Miss Masters?”

Georgia looked at the man still standing next to her, she’d almost forgotten about him. “Yes?”

“My name is Greg Smith. I’m with the CIA.” He pulled a wallet out of his inside jacket pocket, opened it, and showed it to her. “I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

The sight of his badge lit the smoldering embers of anger within her, chasing away the tiredness in an instant. Georgia pressed her lips together. “That’s good, Mr. Smith, because I’ve got a few things I’d like to tell the CIA.”

His bland smile didn’t change. “My car is right over here.” He gestured at one of the black SUVs with emergency lights flashing parked a few yards away. “Do you have luggage?”

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