Page 28 of S.O.S. Mizzay

Since they’d all been told about Cobble before—and the debacle that had led to him being hidden away in the first place—Missy was able to skip that part of the story.

“That’s right, Dad,” Missy agreed, dipping a piece of bread in the broth before popping it into her mouth. “After the last four breaches of intel and the subsequent attempts on Cobble’s life—”

“Five,” Cobble corrected.

When she looked at him, puzzled, he explained.

“The first safehouse, if you recall, was a very quick stay. It was only three days before someone came after me.”

“That’s right,” Missy agreed. “I wasn’t counting that one.”

He nodded that she should keep on with the story, and she turned back to her family. “So, following that there was one, six-month safehouse, then another for a little over three months until word somehow leaked and Cobble was attacked again.”

Thank God Cobble was a soldier first, and had the wherewithal to keep himself alert and alive; bugging out and calling his cousin for help every time trouble arrived.

Missy continued. “A fourth hidey-hole lasted a little over two years because we were much more careful with who received intel. Still, it turned out we weren’t cautious enough.”Yeah.Someone had still found Cobble, and to this day they didn’t know who or how.

“The fifth safehouse that Cobble left today was good for nearly two years until, well… This time we suspect someone went through Cobble’s parent’s mail and found out where he was. So unfortunately, there’ll be no more letters or visits from anyone until we plug our leak.” She sent an apologetic glance to Cobble, even though they’d already talked about it.

“Oh. Your poor mother,” Eleni lamented to a now introspective Cobble. “Not being able to hear from her son. I don’t know what I’d do if I couldn’t touch base with my children. We’ll have to find a way to make sure your parents can come see you,” she determined, resolutely.

“We’re hoping he won’t have to stay hidden for too much longer,” Missy stated to reassure herself as well as everyone else.

Her father’s brows drew together. “That’s all well and fine, but going forward, who is it you trust, and who don’t you feel good about at either of these agencies you’ve worked for, or those you’ve operated in conjunction with?”

Missy didn’t have to think twice about her response, and started with the FBI. “On the good guy list at the FBI, besides Cobble’s cousin, Chuck Smalley, is Assistant Director Baskins. I’d trust him with my life,” she responded. “He’s an upstanding guy who’s been with the bureau forever, and he had no problem with us hiding Cobble the last time without reading him in on a location, even though it goes against department policy. He’s a man whose ego isnotinvolved with his work. Also, there’s Agent Tertia. She took me under her wing before knowing anything about Cobble, and once she was given limited intel about him—which never included his location—she began digging alongside me, on her own time, to voraciously help solve things.”

Missy took a breath. “At the DOJ, the only one I reallybelievein is DAAG Cavateral. There’s an asshole named Beranger who’s had access to previous intel, along with SA Oliphant.” She made a “smell bad” face. “And at the CIA…I can’treally say. I was there for under two years, and I didn’t get a good read on anybody one way or another, so I’m just keeping quiet on that front and letting my bosses take the lead.”

Now for the nitty-gritty. “For possible rogue operatives, Chuck and I have narrowed it to a few names at each agency. Each of these people knew where Cobble was the first few times he was located and attacked. At the CIA, the intelligence officers overseas on my bosses’ list are Tulate, Darconi, and Veegal. At the DOJ—as I said—Beranger and Oliphant, and at the FBI there’s Englewood, Georgio, and Fleischerman. I have pictures of them all which I’ll give you, later,” she told them seriously. “I want you to memorize them in case you see them snooping around town.”

All heads around the table nodded, and Missy’s mother covered her hand with her own.

Now it was time to let her family in on the newest development. “We’re currently pretty pumped for the case moving forward, because Smalley and I, only a few days ago, found out who the man is behind my squad’s murders and Cobble being shot in South Sudan.”

“You did?” her brother marveled. “That’s great work. Will you be making an arrest, immediately?”

“It’s a good development, Nik, but no,” she lamented. “We can’t take our suspect into custody until we find out exactly who the other bad eggs are in the letter agencies. Which…” she hesitated, knowing she’d get a lot of pushback over this, but…

Missy cleared her throat. “Which means I’ve decided that the best thing for me to do is go to South Sudan, undercover, and follow the man we’ve finally identified, hoping for another break in the case.”

“What?” Cobble looked up from his soup and scowled. “You didn’t tell me that. You’re going in alone?”

“I am,” she stated definitively, taking another spoonful of her soup to appear nonchalant. “It won’t be hard for me to blend in. I have a dark-ish complexion and I can put lenses in to turn my green eyes brown like the locals, and a lot of women there still wear the traditional Chadur; a piece of fabric that covers their entire torso and hair. Add to that, a headcover they call aThawb—which is, in practice, a Hijab—and that means very little of my face and body will be visible. Adopting that mode of dress, I’ll be able to look like a native quite easily.”

“But… By yourself, Missy?” her mother conjectured with a worried frown.

“Yes,” she confirmed. “Smalley, Baskins, and Cavateral, however, will know where I am and what I’m doing.”

“She’ll be fine, honey,” Missy’s father assured her mother. “This is Missy we’re talking about. She was born for this kind of thing.”

With a pointed look that said, “we’ll talk about it later”, her mother sat back, not looking at all happy.

Cobble clearly noticed the tension, but was also, she knew, biding his time. He’dwant to have a chat with her about her plans once they were alone.

“Speaking of being born to something,” Cobble threw out, changing the subject, even though it was one Missy was certain he’d revisit. “Can someone please tell me why it is that Andy, uh Missy, has a Brooklyn accent that comes and goes, and the rest of you don’t?”

Missy’s brother Nik, laughed, and poked at her from across the table. “See, weirdo? It’s not just us who call you out on it.”

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