Deep Cover

CHAPTER 1

CIA Headquarters

SHELBY CARSON WALKED down the sterile halls of CIA headquarters to the bank of elevators on the north side of the building. She smiled and spoke to each person she passed along the way, but was seldom greeted in return. Shelby had worked here for almost six months, and often passed the same people in the hall daily; yet they remained strangers. Ruefully, she decided that perhaps paranoia was the rule of the day, because friendliness certainly wasn't. Well, at least a few of the people she worked with directly seemed friendly enough.

She got off on the third floor and saw a woman that worked in the office next door to hers. "Hey Maggie. How's it going?"

Maggie grinned at Shelby. "Good. You?"

"Okay. Glad it's Friday, though. I hate feeling so closed in. Wouldn't be so bad if we had windows."

"I hear you! See ya later."

Shelby grinned, knowing that was unlikely. "Yeah, right."

Over ten hours later, Shelby brushed a lock of blond hair from her brow as tired green eyes studied the computer printouts spread across her desk and the list of names she had jotted onto a tablet. She had uncovered a very disturbing pattern in a worldwide rash of assassinations of high government officials. Her normal optimism faded at the implications of the tentative connection between the killings.

It was the third time she had come up with exactly the same results. None of the names could be ruled out. Every operative on the list could have traveled the distance required to have been on location at the time of each assassination. Atlas, Astera, Blue, Celt, Dragon...she looked at the twenty-seven names until the print became blurred and the code names were burned into her memory.

Shaking her head to clear it, the young woman stood up, and stretched to work the kinks out of her body. She picked up some change lying on the desk and walked through the doorway, smiling up at a Marine guard posted in the hall just outside of her office. His mouth turned up in a fleeting response before his official military face fell back into place. He had never been able to ignore her warm smile.

Shelby felt sorry for the tall man who towered over her own 5'5" by a good six inches. How boring to be required to stand outside a doorway for hours on end. She understood the necessity of the guard, but couldn't imagine ever being still or quiet for hour after hour. She walked to the vending machine, inserted eighty cents and plucked a can of cranberry juice from the tray before slowly meandering back to her desk.

Six months previously, Shelby had accepted a job as a psychological analyst for the Company. Her responsibility was to analyze information, look for patterns, and then render a psychological profile to be disseminated once an archetype was identified. In some ways her job was similar to that of FBI profilers, but Shelby's duties were wider ranging in scope. Her superiors quickly discovered she had an uncanny knack for spotting tiny clues frequently overlooked by her peers. Subsequently, she was assigned more divergent challenges and now worked on the Company's most sensitive cases.

Her thoughts turned back to the profile she had been developing. This was one time she sincerely wanted to be wrong. Shelby knew the only reason she'd found the pattern was because she'd been granted unlimited access to all of the Company's computers.

She hoped it was just a coincidence, but still wasn't looking forward to telling her boss what she'd uncovered. If the proximity of any of the field operatives was not happenstance, it meant one of three things, and Shelby was loath to speak any of them aloud.

Dennis McNabb watched one of his rising new stars walk into his office. He considered himself an expert on reading people, but she had surprised him the day he met her and continued to do so. She possessed maturity beyond her years, and he had been concerned when she uncharacteristically requested an urgent meeting. Despite the nature of her work, the normally laid back young woman had maintained a sunny demeanor and optimistic attitude since she had been assigned to his group of analysts. It puzzled him how she could remain so positive in this line of work and it was always a pleasure to meet with her.

His stomach sank as he saw the lines of worry etched across her face and the usual bounce missing from her step.

Keeping his expression neutral, he nodded. "Shelby." His concern did not preclude him from noticing, as he did every time he met with her, how refreshingly attractive she was. Her blond hair was cut in a very attractive shaggy style that accentuated the curves of her face and lent age to an otherwise youthful appearance. Bangs ended just above well-shaped eyebrows, and intelligent green eyes gazed out at the world.

Smiling, Shelby said, "Hi Dennis. Sorry to bother you on such short notice, but I think I found a pattern in those assassinations."

Dennis' thoughts were yanked back to the meeting at hand, and he riveted his eyes on the analyst. "And that would be?"

An hour later, after painstakingly reviewing her findings and being unable to fault her reasoning, he sat back in his chair and gazed at her. "What are your conclusions?"

Shelby met the brown eyes gazing at her and answered confidently. "If it's not just a bizarre coincidence, I'd say rogue, mole or double."

Dennis nodded. "I agree." He suddenly stood up and began pacing across the room. "Just what we need. Another scandal."

Tentatively, Shelby said, "Maybe not. If the investigation is small enough, word might not get out."

"There is always some disgruntled employee just waiting for something to run to the papers with. Each time you request information from someone, there will be that risk. And I need to assign an operative to work this case with you."

Dennis sat back down and sighed. "Field operatives hate this kind of work. They're used to working on their own and assigning them a desk job always causes a lot of friction. More than one of them has dropped a dime on us to the media to get out of an assignment like this. It could get ugly real fast."

"Why do I have to work with a field operative? Because I'm new?"

"That's only part of it. I'd probably assign one regardless. We've got to eliminate some of the names on your list. No one better than one of our own to determine what is and isn't possible in the field. What's feasible on paper isn't always, in reality."

At least he wasn't pulling her from the case. Shelby had been worried about that, and her mind worked quickly trying to come up with a solution that would prevent a public debacle. "Why not chose one of the operatives on that list? Can't very well run to the papers if they're under suspicion."

Dennis' eyes drilled into his subordinate's. "And what if they are guilty?"

"It's possible, but come on, Dennis. There are twenty-seven operatives that were within traveling distance of those assassinations. Twenty-seven to one are pretty good odds."

Leaning back in his chair, Dennis thought over his very limited options before nodding. "It would be a long shot."

"I'm willing to take the chance. We don't know for sure it's anyone on that list anyway."

Dennis was warming to the idea. If it were one of the Company's own, it would probably prevent a scandal and the likelihood of Shelby being paired with the killer was statistically small. "I'll talk to Jeb and get back to you. Now go on home. You've already been here twelve hours."

Shelby smiled, pleased. Jeb was short for James Evan Benton, the Director of Coordinated Operations. "Thanks, Dennis."

"You might not be thanking me later if he approves this. Not all of our field operatives have well developed social skills."

Shelby shoved his warning to the back of her mind. She had weighed the risks before making the suggestion and had offered it only because Dennis seemed almost willing to ignore the threat rather than risk a scandal. She did have some private concerns about working with a field agent who could be an unsanctioned killer and hoped they would both be on the same side.

A Desert Camp in Saudi Arabia

Kristina Bartley raised the antenna on the portable receiver and directed it toward a satellite south of her position. Within five minutes, the encrypted message she had intercepted began downloading into her self-modified hand held receiver without leaving any trace of having done so. The message was automatically decoded and displayed across the three-inch screen in timed bursts. As the words registered, her eyes narrowed speculatively. She quickly returned to her quarters and waited for her Saudi liaison.

Ahmed had just received new instructions and slowly made his way to the American woman's location. He didn't like her and was relieved this would be the last message he would have to deliver to her. He would miss her skill, but she didn't know her place and when he had challenged her, he had barely escaped with his life. He would never forget the emotionless, ice blue eyes as she moved in to strike the winning blow. If Henri's arrival hadn't been so timely, he was sure she would've killed him. No, skilled or not, he would be glad to see her go.

Kris sat on the bedroll against the canvas wall, seemingly relaxed and unconcerned as she called out in Arabic, "Come in," the foreign language rolling smoothly off her tongue.

Actually, every muscle in her tall body was prepared to move at the slightest threat or provocation. She didn't trust her Saudi counterpart, but then she didn't trust anyone, so it wasn't an alien feeling. In this business, trust could mean death, and Kris had no intentions of becoming worm food anytime soon.

When Ahmed entered Kris grinned sardonically, fully aware of how intimidated he was and how much he despised her for that very reason. She snorted to herself. He had determined their working relationship by strutting up to her shortly after her arrival and informing her that as long as she was in his country, she would be subordinate to him. Most men, and women, too, usually succumbed to her natural charisma when she chose to use it, but he had been totally oblivious to it and so she had been forced to physically correct his misperception of their working relationship.

"Hawk just called a code yellow." Ahmed looked closely at the beautiful woman for any reaction to his words. He knew code yellow meant that the mission was aborted and operatives were to return to headquarters. The Saudi also knew it was highly unusual, yet the American's face remained totally impassive. He knew it was impossible, but it seemed as if she already knew.

Angry at the lack of reaction, he ordered, "You will depart now!"

Ahmed felt his air cut off and fleetingly wondered how she could move so quickly. He heard a quiet chuckle and his blood ran cold. She had to be crazy. She whispered in his ear, "I'll leave when I'm ready. Understand?" Then, as if talking to a child, she repeated the words in Arabic. Ahmed nodded his head, unable to speak through the vise gripping his throat.

"Good. I'm glad we understand each other. So you want to tell me what that was all about? We both know there are no flights to the States until morning." Kris loosened her hold on his neck so that he could answer.

"I thought you might want to wait at the airport."

Her voice steely, Kris growled, "You are a poor liar, Ahmed. Get out of here while you still can."

Ahmed strode out of her quarters in what he hoped was a dignified manner, consoling himself with the fact that she was most assuredly in trouble with her superiors.

Kris remained awake until she departed for the airport the following morning. She could sleep on the plane. Contrary to what Ahmed thought, the operative was actually very concerned about being recalled. It was a first in her career, and she doubted it boded well for her. Her mind processed a multitude of possible reasons, none of which were reassuring and one was downright terrifying.

Fairfax, Virginia

Shelby walked into her second floor garden apartment, tossed her purse on the floor by the couch, and kicked off her shoes before sinking into a large, mauve, overstuffed chair. She glanced over and checked the answering machine, but the light wasn't blinking. Surprised that her mother hadn't called, she got up and began shedding her clothing a piece at a time. Her blouse ended up on the bathroom doorknob, the skirt on the bed, and her underwear in the hamper. All she could think of was a warm shower to wash the stress from her tense muscles.

A short time later, Shelby sat curled up on the couch in a long, red sleeping T-shirt with a picture of kittens playing on the front. Tonight all she wanted to do was relax. Maybe I'll watch The Fugitive. Kim seems to think it's good. Shelby didn't want to think about what Monday would bring. If Jeb approved her suggestion, she was going to be working with a field operative that could just possibly be an assassin, and that made Shelby decidedly uneasy.

She still couldn't believe she was working for the CIA. After graduating from college with a dual degree in Computer Science and Psychology, Shelby accepted a job as a computer programmer in a local company. She quickly mastered the job, but found the work tedious and boring. Increasingly dissatisfied, she enrolled in graduate school part time, and had just finished her last course when Shawn Burgess became her supervisor. His interest in her had extended beyond the job and things had quickly deteriorated when she had rebuffed his advances. Going up the supervisory chain had only made matters worse, so, unwilling to put up with the constant harassment, she had started looking for another job while she waited for her degree to be conferred.

Shelby clearly remembered the day she had sent her resume to a post office box address in response to an advertisement in a local paper. Her Master's degree in Psychology had qualified her for the job and she was excited about an opportunity to put it to use. Inwardly smiling, Shelby reflected that had she known it was a CIA ad, she might not have answered it. She had no regrets, however. Her new job was interesting and challenging, a distinct improvement over the previous one.

She knew the Company often had a poor image because of past scandals and a common misconception was that many CIA operatives were government-sanctioned killers. Shelby had never believed that, and accepted the job, although she was not naïve enough to doubt that the Company would do whatever was necessary to protect the interests of the country.

After her promotion, Shelby began working on highly classified cases and came across the term wet operative in a few cases that had very deadly outcomes. She intuitively made the connection and felt the title was gruesomely appropriate.

For her, the biggest downside of the job was the loneliness of the work. There was very little opportunity to interact with other employees and being gregarious by nature, Shelby missed that.

Forcing work from her mind, she decided to call her best friend, Kim. Most of her friends were married or had ongoing relationships, but Kim was single like she was and usually available for a night out.

She punched in the number, and waited for Kim to answer.

"Hello."

"Hiya."

"Hey Shelby. Whazup?"

"Not too much. Wanna see Charlie's Angels tomorrow? The write up's pretty good."

"Sure. What time?"

"Well, we could get something to eat and catch the 9:30. Want me to pick you up?"

"Yeah. That'd be good. It's your turn to drive."

Shelby laughed. "What're you doing, keeping track?"

"No. I just hate to drive in this city. Maybe someday I'll get used to it."

"I hear you. Doesn't bother me that much, though."

Kim loved to eat out and asked, "So where are we going to eat?"

"You pick. I picked the movie."

"Umm...how 'bout Chesapeake Bay Seafood House?"

"Sounds good. See you tomorrow."

Shelby hung up the phone and relaxed. Their outing would be a nice diversion from the worrisome events of the day.

CIA Headquarters

Jeb almost sighed with relief as he left the office of the head honcho of covert ops, Earl Mason. He had met with Dennis the evening before and didn't have authority to pull an operative from the field without going up the ladder. And quite frankly, Earl Mason was one scary guy.

He was strictly a REMF (Rear Echelon MFer) and Jeb accepted the title proudly. He commanded from a desk, and that was the way he liked it. Lots of power, but nice and safe. He had no intentions of getting his ass shot off or being tortured in some foreign country while the government disavowed any knowledge of him.

Walking into his office, he called Dennis. "It's a go. Earl is pulling Blue." He paused as he heard the sharp intake of breath through the phone. That had been his reaction, too.

"Why Blue?" Dennis had heard rumors of just how ruthless Blue was and the operative had a reputation for never failing, regardless of how long the mission took. It was the "ruthless" part that bothered him if there were any truth to the tales he had heard, and experience had taught him that there was always some truth in the rumor mill.

"You'll have to ask Earl that."

Dennis snorted. "Yeah right. He's real amenable to having his decisions questioned."

"My point exactly. Blue's already in place and will be meeting with Earl at ten. He told me to tell you to be standing by from eleven on."

"Thanks for going to bat for me, Jim."

"Let's just hope we solve this case real fast."

Dennis hung up the phone and issued an apology that would never be spoken aloud. I'm sorry, Shelby. This guy is probably some cold fish with dead eyes and you're stuck with him.

Kris ignored the admiring looks cast her way as she walked down the main corridor of CIA headquarters en route to a Sunday meeting with her boss. She was used to the attention - it had served her, and her employer, exceptionally well.

Kris was tall, lithe and strikingly attractive. Her black hair flowed over her shoulders and onto her back. Longish bangs in need of a trim were brushed aside, contrasting nicely with an olive complexion. High cheekbones and a full mouth gave her an almost exotic appearance, but it was her sapphire blue eyes that were her most memorable feature.

Over the years, on the few occasions that the operative had been spotted, the witness would cite mesmerizing blue eyes, but beyond that, their memory seemed to fail. Her code name was, appropriately, Blue. And it was for just that very reason that dark sunglasses usually hid her eyes from casual onlookers.

Matter of fact, the operative looked every bit the part of an executive within the agency. She wore a fashionable gray, moderately cut suit with a crisp white blouse. Tasteful gold earrings, a matching brooch and a light smattering of make up, tastefully applied, accented her attire. The handle of a black purse was slung over her right shoulder and the handle of a black leather briefcase was secured in her left hand. Kris excelled at role-playing. She had been doing it for years.

She had arrived in Washington the previous evening and had wanted to be well rested for her meeting today, but troubling thoughts had thwarted those plans and she was operating on sheer adrenaline, worry vying with curiosity.

Arriving at her destination, Kris knocked once and walked into the outer office of the Director of Strategic Planning, commonly referred to as Covert Ops. She passed the empty secretary's desk on the way to the inner office door, knowing she'd been told to report on Sunday so there would be a limited number of people around. She knocked once and the door immediately opened.

Earl backed away from the door enough to allow Kris entry, and then closed it. "Long time no see."

"I would say charmed, except that I'm not."

"That's not very friendly of you."

"What's going on, Earl? You trash an ongoing operation and call me back here at the risk of blowing my cover. What is so damned important it couldn't have waited a few more weeks?"

Earl studied the woman silently, hoping to gain the upper hand in this meeting, but the tactic had no effect on her demeanor. "We have a potential security breach and you're being reassigned here to work with one of our top analysts to get to the bottom of it."

Kris fought against reacting to the news. In her mind, there was only one worse thing that could have happened. She was a field agent, not a desk jockey.

"Potential security breach?" She raised an eyebrow to indicate her disdain for the deliberately vague language. "Do we, or don't we?"

"That's your job. You tell me." Earl handed Kris a copy of the typed report he'd gotten from Jeb and sat back in his chair while she read it.

Kris quickly read the report. The evidence was solid, but there was no proof of any wrong doing by any operative listed. "Strictly circumstantial. Could be coincidence." She wasn't the least bit pleased that her name had been included in the list of "suspects."

"Right. That's where you come in. I need you to work with the analyst and narrow that list down. I figure it should take you a couple of weeks to accurately account for each operative's location. You will have full access to copies of the satellite transmissions, where they were sent to and received from, for each person on that list. Use every other means at your disposal to verify where each one was when the assassinations went down. Best case scenario--all the names are eliminated."

"I can't accept this assignment. I'm on the list. That's a conflict of interest." Kris smiled sardonically. "Besides, what if it's me? I could stymie you at every turn."

The hairs on the back of Earl's neck stood on end. He'd considered that possibility and hoped for all of their sakes that it wasn't true. To have her as an opponent would be catastrophic.

"First off, you don't have a choice. You're the best we have, and I want you on this. Secondly, you're too smart to do anything as dumb as interfere with an investigation."

Earl returned her smile. "Nice try, Kris."

Kris bit off a retort. This would be the assignment from hell for more than one reason.

He stood up. "Dennis McNabb is standing by. He'll answer any other questions you have and set you up with the analyst. Any questions?"

"No. But I want you to know that I am accepting this assignment under duress."

"Duly noted." Earl ran a hand through his thinning gray hair. "I probably don't need to tell you that if word of this investigation gets out, it could get dicey."

Kris rolled her eyes, the action hidden behind her sunglasses. "Yeah, Earl. So what else is new?"

Earl routinely dealt with some of the most cold-blooded men and women in the world, but this one had to be the deadliest of the lot. Her ability to turn the charm on and off at will put people, himself included, at a distinct disadvantage and it wasn't a position he liked being in. Earl had pulled her because he wanted a quick resolution to this case, but he felt a pang of sympathy for the analyst she'd be working with.

Kris was thoroughly enjoying the effect she was having on Dennis. When Earl had introduced her as Blue, he'd been unable to hide his shock and his mouth had dropped open. Since she was being saddled with a desk assignment, she intended to find amusement wherever she could.

Still grinning at Dennis' reaction, Kris would've loved to know what image his mind's eye had conjured up prior to meeting her. She was well aware of the exaggerated rumors floating around headquarters regarding both her and a few of her peers.

Earl had been gone for five minutes, and Dennis was still trying to recover. And it didn't help that she sat there watching him with an unreadable smile on her face, and her eyes covered by sunglasses. You couldn't very well gauge a person if you couldn't see their eyes. Damn, Earl could've at least warned me.

Deciding to keep it brief, Dennis quickly explained how Shelby had come up with the information, totally unaware Kris had already seen the report. Finished, he said, "Um.. if you could be back here tomorrow at nine, I'll introduce you to Shelby."

Kris nodded. "I'll be here," and walked out the door.

Dennis watched her appreciatively, but knew that was all he'd ever do.

Kris paid the cab driver and walked into the Sheraton. She was completely aware of her surroundings and everyone in the immediate vicinity, although she scanned the area so unobtrusively only someone similarly trained would have noticed her scrutiny.

Satisfied, she took the elevator to the fourth floor and entered a room near the far end. Kris was emotionally and mentally exhausted. The constant stress of worrying why her assignment had been terminated and keeping her public persona in place had taken its toll. She quickly removed her suit, hanging it on one of the hangers provided. Most of her clothes were in storage at the Company's expense, and a visit was going to be required very soon if she was to blend in with the Company's support staff.

After a quick shower, Kris walked out of the bathroom and donned a bathrobe before sinking onto the bed. She called room service and ordered a chef's salad only because she knew she should eat something.

Her thoughts turned back to the events over the last three days. She wasn't the least bit happy to be back at headquarters, although her worst fears had not been realized, and that in itself was a tremendous weight lifted from her shoulders.

The analyst she would be working with had to be fairly sharp to have picked up the pattern on the assassinations. That could be both good and bad. Time would tell.

After eating, Kris checked her gun, and laid it on the nightstand next to her bed. She never went anywhere without it. It was the only friend she had. Turning off the light, the tall woman was asleep almost before she hit the pillow.

Kris jerked upright in bed, and breathed a sigh of relief when she discovered the disturbance was the phone ringing. She glanced at the clock and saw it was eleven. She answered the phone more out of curiosity than anything else, having absolutely no idea why anyone would be calling her.

"Yes."

"Your Uncle wants to talk to you."

Still brushing the cobwebs from her mind, Kris said, "You've got the wrong number."

"I don't think so Natasha Lubinyenka."

Kris' head began throbbing as she squeezed the phone until her knuckles turned white, matching her equally pale face. She felt like she'd been punched in the solar plexus and couldn't breathe. No. Not now. Not here. Not while I'm under such close scrutiny.