Page 11 of The Eagle (Spy Girl 2)
"It wasn't like a date. I assumed he invited numerous people to the party and wouldn't miss me in the least. Anyway, we made some new friends at The Casino and threw an impromptu party at our villa the next day. Daniel showed up with the Prince, and that's when he and I became friends."
"I understand you were with him during the attempts on his life."
"That was scary, but the kidnapping was--for lack of a better word, traumatic. I thought I was going to die."
"Your brother has an interesting background. Did you know he trained at a CIA facility but then dropped out?"
"Yeah, he told me. Not that it did us much good during the kidnapping, but whatever."
"It's possible you could help serve your country."
"And how would I do that?"
"By passing along information to us from time to time."
"You want me to be a snitch?"
"We prefer to call it an informant."
"Why me?"
"I was told by the British agent who rescued you that you were cool under pressure and had managed to get your hands untied. He thinks you're smart and resourceful."
"Did he also tell you that he bought me an expensive evening bag and tried to recruit me himself before we got kidnapped?"
"He did not."
"Of course, at that point, I thought his story of being a British agent was just a way to get in my pants."
The Director chuckles. "So will you be there if your country needs you?"
"I'm not sure. What would you want me to do? Like, give me an example."
"Say you are at the Royal Casino in Montrovia and there's a Russian billionaire who we think is moving arms to the bad guys."
"Like prosthetic arms?" I ask with a straight face, acting totally ditzy.
"Uh, what? Oh, no. I mean arms, like ammunition."
I giggle. "Oh, duh. Sorry. My brother was watching some show about this military guy who got his arm blown off and had this almost robotic one. That's the first thing that popped into my mind."
He studies me, and I can tell he's thinking I am an idiot. And quite honestly, I'd prefer him to think of me exactly that way.
"Anyway, he's a bad guy."
I nod, pretending to follow. "Got it."
"We want you to make friends with him, maybe let him buy you a drink."
"But I don't want to be friends with a bad guy."
"You would pretend."
"Oh, okay. Wait. Why would I do that?"
"Because we need time to search his car for clues."
"So, I'd be like a decoy. A distraction?"
"Yes. Exactly."
I make a little pouty face.
"Does that not sound like something you could do?"
"No, it does. I just thought it would be more exciting. Like I'd be searching for clues or something."
"Well, you could do that, too. If you were talking to the Russian and you overheard a clue, you'd want to tell us."
"This might be a stupid question, but why would I care if the guy is selling weapons? The CIA sells weapons."
"Maybe he's selling them to terrorists."
"What kind of weapons?"
"He dabbles in all kinds of things: RPGs, AKS-74Us, MG4s. Nasty stuff."
"Sounds serious, all those letter and numbers. I'm not sure someone like me would know what those things are."
"You wouldn't necessarily have to know--"
"Although, honestly," I interrupt, "if I were a terrorist, I'd probably be more interested in the L-85 assault rifle or maybe something like a RPK-12 light machine gun. Unless I really wanted to do some serious damage, then I might need an RPG-7 or a nice little Stinger rocket launcher."
"Were you playing dumb with me, before?"
"You were talking to me like I was, so I thought I would fulfill your wishes."
"How do you know what an L-85 assault rifle is?"
"Battleground," I say with a grin.
He rolls his eyes. "You kids and your damn video games."
"Can we try it now?"
"Try what now?"
"Point to someone and tell me what you want to know about them."
"Hmm." He scans the room and then gestures. "Over there is Senator Martin Vanderbilt. He's very protective of his family after a kidnapping scare a few years ago. He rarely speaks of them in public and would never give out any pertinent details. I want to know where his children are going to summer camp."
A few minutes later, I'm at the bar when the Director wanders over. "Ready to admit to defeat?"
"No, I was just grabbing a drink. His twelve-year old son, Austin, and his fourteen-year old daughter, Beatrice, are going to Lakeland Camp in the Adirondacks. Apparently, it's a family tradition. His college-aged son attended when he was younger and even served as a camp counselor. He also tried to set me up with said son, whose name is Nathaniel and who is very close by as he attends Georgetown Law School."
The man raises his eyebrow at me just slightly, showing a hint of surprise. "You did well. So, will you do it?"
"If it doesn't put me in danger," I shrug. "Sure, why not?"
"Good to hear. I actually have a mission for you."
"Um, okay?"
"This week the King is hosting a state dinner at the Montrovian Embassy. I'm told Aleksandr Nikolaevich may be in attendance."
"Is that Viktor's father?"
"Yes."
"And what does he have to do with anything?"
"There are rumors that his international shipping company may be smuggling arms to people we don't want to have them."
"I don't know about that, but the man sure builds a gorgeous yacht."
"Just keep your ears open, and if you hear anything of int
erest, call me directly," he says, then hands me a card with his cell number written on the back.
I take the card and put it in my clutch. I mean, it couldn't hurt to have the Director of the CIA on speed dial.
After dinner, I pull Ari aside. "The Director of the CIA just recruited me to be an informant. I suspect he will try to recruit you too."
"Do you think he knows the truth about us?"
"I don't think so."
"Which means our cover runs very deep." Ari eyes one of the members of the country band, a beautiful brunette, and says, "Which is a good thing. Now if you will excuse me, I have some hunting to do."
"Does that mean I should see myself home?"
"I'll let you know later, but I sure hope so."
I'm getting ready to text my driver when I hear Mike Burnes speaking in hushed tones on his phone as he's heading for the exit. I don't know why, but I follow him, watching as he rounds the corner and meets up with someone.
I keep my body flat against the building and then stealthily peek around the corner. Neither man is facing my direction but rather standing face-to-face, giving me a view of their profiles.
The man he's speaking to is tall and wearing a trench coat and hat, which is weird considering it's not cold or rainy out.
I move closer in an attempt to better hear their conversation, using a dumpster as cover.
I have no reason to be back here. It's dark, and smart young women don't walk down alleys alone at night.
"You're not going to like this," the man in the trench coat says. "We believe that the assassin known as The Priest made the hit on the President. There is no one else who could have done this."
"That's impossible. He's been dead since--"
"Since he was double-crossed and killed by whomever ordered the hit on one of our best agents and her daughter six years ago."
My ears perk up, and there's a burning sensation at the pit of my stomach. Is the agent he's talking about my mother?
"It's hard to believe we never found her daughter's body," the director says, shaking his head and looking sad. "I just pray whatever he did to her was over quickly." He pauses. "Hard to believe she'd be eighteen by now."
Are they talking about me? About my body? Do they think I'm dead? No, it can't be me. There must be another agent who was killed in that timeframe. Who had a daughter the same age as me.
The director continues. "What proof do you have that The Priest is alive?"
"There was a woman he was thought to be tied to. After some research, we discovered she was killed in a suspicious auto accident four years ago."
