The Backup Asset

…62

The roar of a jet on an aggressive takeoff climb from Norfolk International interrupted the serenity of the Botanical Gardens, and made Alex pause a little. She and Jeremy were taking the same bench under the old tree, with direct line of sight to Smolin’s favorite backgammon game. Alex refrained with difficulty from hiding her face, concerned he might recognize her after he’d seen her on his doorstep. But they were too far, she was safe at that distance.

He wasn’t playing backgammon that time, just hanging out, as if waiting for a game partner to show up.

“And?” Jeremy asked.

“And what? Oh, yes,” she remembered where she’d left off before the 747’s takeoff, “Louie is the one we all go to if we need data. Any kind of data, really.”

“So he’s a hacker?”

“White hat, and a pretty good one,” she chuckled. “When we can’t afford to go through channels, or we can’t bypass a roadblock, he’s always able to find a way to get the job done. Ex-SEAL, and my personal trainer.”

“For what?” Jeremy asked. “Computer hacking?”

“No,” she laughed. “Krav Maga, weapons, that kind of stuff. You’d be surprised how dangerous corporate investigations can get sometimes,” she clarified, seeing how amazed he looked.

Smolin stood up and grabbed his backgammon set under his arm, heading slowly toward the exit. They stayed a decent distance behind, and followed him in the same relaxed pace.

Smolin stopped at a food vendor on his way to the exit, waited in line for another customer to be served, then bought a sandwich. He didn’t eat it; he just put it in his pocket and continued his slow stroll through the park alleys.

“What’s with this guy and his sandwiches?” Alex wondered. “He’s got plenty of those at home, right?”

“Well, maybe they’re not that good,” Jeremy said. “Remember he threw the one from home in the trash after just one bite. Who knows, maybe he’s too polite to tell whoever’s making them that he prefers street vendor hotdogs instead.”

“Maybe, but I don’t think so… It must be something else. Nothing this man does is casual or left to chance.”

“Yeah, but we’re talking about food here,” Jeremy said. “I agree with everything you said, but even spies have to eat.”

“True. All right, I’ll drop it.”

They walked without saying anything for a while, following Smolin as he headed toward the parking lot.

“Do you think he’s hoarding food?” Jeremy asked. “How many sandwiches were in that fridge? Four, five? Do you think it’s because they didn’t have much food in the communist days?”

“Yeah… maybe. But I don’t think so,” she said grumpily, struggling to hide her irritation.

Here they were, wasting valuable time following a Russian agent who seemed to have nothing better to do than walk in the park and eat. What the hell were they missing?