Running Off Radar, page 12
With the curtains drawn, she set up the connection and paced around the suite. If she didn’t open the files and get her assignment, could she stay on vacation? No. Hannah would call, or worse, Colonel Wyatt. Besides, she needed to get her head in the game, not miss a chance to finally track down Sirko. He’d eluded JSOC and Interpol long enough. If he regained power, Angelo’s sacrifice was wasted. If Sirko could run half the world’s money laundering before, who would stop him now? He’d instigate more civil wars and terrorist campaigns, just for profit. And with enough resources again, Maji hated to think what action Sirko might take against Angelo’s family.
The brief was mercifully spare: Conduct reconnaissance locally and coordinate with the two SEALs who would be taking point—Lieutenants Green and Kim. Coordinate with the Coast Guard to the extent needed to gain their cooperation. As usual, she could not say outright that she represented the Army’s counterterrorism unit. Letting them think she was from counterintelligence gave her enough basis for sharing intel and taking action if needed. The SEALs would give her no problems. They were quiet professionals, like Delta operators, and had teamwork in their DNA. All they would need to be clear on was how to plug her in to help get the job done.
First operational step: Go out to the Coast Guard station on Japonski Island, a little ways past the airport, and meet up. They were due in before noon Alaska time, which gave her barely enough time to review the support files and get her ass out there. After that, she would act on her own discretion, doing recon as she saw fit. That was the beauty of being a Delta operator—JSOC set the mission objectives, but you got to decide how best to achieve them.
When Maji infiltrated a community in order to obtain intel or extract a high value target, her cover generally dictated how she dressed, what she ate, where she slept, and all the other little details of daily life. This time, she had to step back and decide what it meant to the mission that she’d come here on vacation, with a girlfriend. She’d already met a lot of people in this tiny fishbowl. They might naturally ask questions about the work she was doing or her girlfriend’s reaction, or both. And if so, how would Sgt. Rios, CI Special Agent, keep her private life private? She was allowed to have one, after all. Sort of.
Delta operators, all male except for the seven females in her pilot, were encouraged to marry, to have families. But only with women who could handle the normal stress of life with a soldier, as well as the unpredictability of life with an operator. When Colonel Wyatt had learned that Maji was dating his daughter—another lifetime ago, it seemed—he’d nearly kicked Maji out of the program. It wasn’t that Johnni couldn’t keep a secret, for children raised in the tight circle of Delta operations learned early and well how to lie about what their fathers did for the Army. And Wyatt had come to terms with his daughter’s sexuality as well as her disinclination toward military life. Which had made him certain there would be heartbreak for at least one woman. And a heartbroken operator was a liability.
Ultimately, Johnni had broken up with Ri without ever being formally told that she was an operator. Being involved with a soldier just couldn’t work with her off-base life of art and freedom, she’d said. But Maji suspected the real reason was that Johnni had astutely put the pieces together. And Maji could never ask her if that was true. She never even told Johnni her real name, staying Ri throughout their tumultuous six months as a couple.
Maji shook off the past and opened the background briefing. She blinked at the news articles on the screen. Local coverage of Dee’s co-captain Charlie Shakely’s death, plus some conspiracy website’s article on the Russian sub sightings. And several on telecom cable repairs in this area over the last few years. Nothing obvious linked the three together.
But the accompanying analyst’s report seemed plausible. One, Sirko had the connections to the Ukrainian military to get ahold of a sub in exchange for something of value to them. Two, subs had been used all throughout the Cold War to tap those submerged marine cables. In fact, everyone in counterterrorism and the intelligence agencies knew this form of eavesdropping was still common. Maji would hate to be the English-speaking grunt who had to sift through all the data and communications for any tidbits relevant to national security. Maybe a computer did the initial legwork—Angelo would know. She shook that thought away. Three, the analyst noted, Charlie and Dee’s fishing boat was found in an area that roughly overlapped where the local sub sighting was reported. However, why its crew would feel the need to go after and kill the fisherman, even if he had spotted them, was not discussed. Simply resubmerging and running off radar for a while would have been a more typical response if they’d seen him as a threat at all. Could his death have been an accident? The report didn’t indicate whether the boat showed signs of a collision.
Maji pushed back from the table and stood, frustrated. All she knew now was what she had already figured out on her own. Well, maybe by the time the SEALs touched down there would be something more to go on. If Tom could find a way to get any intel to JSOC, that would save them so much time and guesswork. But if he needed to run silent to stay safe, she’d forgive him making them work the puzzle themselves.
Packing the laptop to travel, Maji found the interior pocket of the soft case and drew out its contents. Her badge looked impressive, and the card with her title and home office contact information equally real. If anyone called the number on her card, they would reach a live human being who answered with the right division name. Colonel Wyatt, or whoever was staffing the operations center on that shift, would take the call and behave in a way that would reinforce her cover.
Sometimes the game of pretend was as simple as when she’d been a kid, swapping names at school to confuse a substitute teacher. But sometimes it took an elaborate network to make sure her cover held. When she was dropped into a hostile country, literally falling out of the sky and hiking into a strange town on her own, that network played a life or death role. But here, working in partnership with other parts of the military and local LEOs? These were the times she wished she could just walk in, explain she was Delta, and get on with the work.
* * *
Walking over the O’Connell Bridge from town to Japonski Island, Maji felt like she was walking away from Rose. Which was silly. Rose was so understanding, so sweet in the way she held out the promise of a future without demanding any details about how and when Maji would deliver it. Low expectations—the key to happiness. She looked across Sitka Sound to the snowcapped hills under a clear blue sky and envied whoever was driving the little motorboat that zipped toward the private island in the middle distance. That’s where she should be, with Rose. Not walking away.
A taxi slowed down alongside her. Maji startled and realized just how caught up in her own thoughts she had been. Not good.
The window rolled down revealing a familiar face. The worried uncle from the airport. Nate. “Need a lift?”
“No, thanks,” she answered. “Short walk, gorgeous day.” Now that the clouds had lifted it virtually sparkled.
“Amen, sister.” He pulled ahead of her with a friendly wave, disappearing over the bridge’s arc.
Be here, now, Rios. She picked up her pace, feeling the sunshine again. Mind on her destination, eyes on her surroundings.
As she started to pass Sealing Cove Harbor, she spotted the taxi again. Nate leaned against the hood, arms crossed over his belly, looking relaxed. “Gorgeous day, ennit?”
“So I hear.” She met his deadpan affability with the same. Clearly he had something on his mind. Pushing him wouldn’t help, though. “Too nice to pick up tourists?”
Nate gestured toward the airport farther down the road. “They don’t get far by foot. Except you,” he said. “Collected any cool knives lately?”
“Not for days. How’s Simon?”
He didn’t ask how she knew his nephew’s name. In a town this size, and with the Tribal members a tight community within the larger community, she’d have been stunned if he and Heather hadn’t talked. “Back to school, doing okay. Put the right bait on the hook, I guess.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“Dee’s out of the hospital too. Going to be fine, looks like.”
Maji wondered if he knew yet that the men who put her in the hospital were back on the streets. She wasn’t going to be the one to bring it up first. Let him speak his mind. “Heather said Dee just got the boat back, that it was half Charlie’s. That make it half yours now?”
“Nope.”
Maji looked at her watch. If he wasn’t going to share what he’d stopped to talk about, she had SEALs to meet.
“I should let you go then,” Nate said, looking awkward. “Give you a ride? Make up the time? On me, since I waylaid you.”
She was curious, despite herself. “Sure.”
“Where to?” he asked as soon as she’d closed the door and buckled up.
“Coast Guard station.”
He pulled the car back on to the two-lane road with a hmm his only comment. They rode in silence past the airport. Overhead, a large orange and white helicopter with the iconic Coast Guard striping descended smoothly toward the airstrip beyond the commercial area.
“Ever been up in one of those?” Nate asked.
Maji decided Black Hawks didn’t count, despite the similarities. “Nope. You?”
“Just once. Coasties pulled me and Charlie out of the Sound, up by Admiral.”
“And you haven’t wanted to go up, just for fun?”
Nate didn’t answer. Didn’t even shake his head, just slowed as the Air Station Sitka sign came into view. He put the cab in park twenty yards from the gatehouse. Maji glanced over her shoulder at the empty stretch of road behind them but didn’t make a move to get out.
“Coasties went out the day Charlie died, you know.” He said it casually, looking ahead at the station.
“Yeah?”
He turned in his seat to look at her, one hand draped on the steering wheel. “Yeah. Some Russian guys made a distress call. Couple hours before Dee sent them out after Charlie, and not too far either.”
Not too far from where his body was found, she knew he meant. “You get a lot of Russians around here?”
Nate shook his head. “Not these days. Think they could be the same guys, then?”
“I really wouldn’t know. I was just in the right place, right time to lend a hand.”
“You’re handy that way,” he acknowledged. “Could be handy with the cops. Folks at the harbor said they listened to you.”
Ah. “Only about how I do my job. Not about how they should do theirs.”
He nodded silently. “Charlie didn’t kill himself. And he wasn’t careless. He cared about living, about his family.”
“I’m sure you’re right.” Maji opened the door, wishing she had something more to offer. She hopped out and shut the door, then leaned on the edge of the open window. “If I find a way to help, I will.”
He nodded again. “I know.”
By the time Maji realized there was no sentry in the gatehouse and dialed the number provided next to the wall phone, Nate had executed a neat U-turn and headed back toward the airport.
Chapter Eleven
“I brought you gifts,” Dev said as they stood in the buffet line for lunch in the banquet hall. A large screen and podium in the front of the room waited for the keynote speaker.
Rose glanced uncertainly at him. “Really?”
“A lovely bracelet and an elegant pin. They will look just right with your outfit. Good colors for you, Professor.” Dev’s voice sounded so different with the Indian accent, softer with the inflections. “Let me show you.”
“Here? Now?”
“Why wait?” He pulled both items, each in its own small gift box, from the pocket of his sweater vest. The line was slow, with each person helping themselves to a plate, cutlery, and the sandwich makings and salad. Why wait, indeed. Rose took the larger box and opened it. “Ooh! A shambhala bracelet. It is lovely.” Woven leather strands linked the seven beads. “Are these the chakra colors?”
“Very good.” Dev nodded and smiled graciously. It was unsettling, the difference in his manner. Like Maji when she laid on her Brooklyn accent and Latina city-girl clothes last summer, becoming Ri in looks and attitude. Dev raised his eyes and held her gaze. “To better track how you are doing, at any given time.”
“Oh, how clever.” At least it was more attractive than the tracking device she had worn last summer. “And the pin?”
“Ah, yes,” he said, opening the other box. They shuffled forward, one person closer to lunch. “Quan Yin listens to the sorrows of the world, they say.”
Rose let him pin the little carved figure up near her collar. Not the best placement for fashion, but she’d trust his judgment on where a listening device should go. “I assume you keep your ears open too. Anthropologists are professional listeners, in a way.”
“Oh yes. No matter where we go, we are alike that way.” He gave her a regretful look. “I do hope you’ll excuse me if I don’t sit with you just now. I am expecting a Skype call from my wife, and the time difference is so tricky.”
Rose knew that was just an excuse, a way to create space so that Javi might approach her and speak freely. But the mention of his wife reminded her that Dev was in there, that he and his family on the East Coast were old friends of Maji. And Angelo. So she gave him a genuine smile. “Your wife! Of course you must. How is she? And your children?” She avoided using Mira’s name, or calling out his two real daughters. Who knew how deep this playacting went for him?
They reached the buffet table, and Dev waved her ahead. “Kids are kids. My wife wants me home—the girls just want presents on my return.”
Rose saw a harried-looking arrival burst through the door and scan until he spotted her. “Oh, look,” she said. “My friend Javi.”
To her surprise, Dev turned abruptly and waved at him. Javi headed for them, ignoring the line to their rear.
“You must be Javier,” Dev said, handing him a plate. Rose heard a murmur of disapproval behind her, but no outright objections. “Dr. Dev, from Allahabad. Dr. diStephano speaks highly of you.”
Javi looked momentarily startled, then gave Rose a grateful look. “Someone is too kind. Great sessions this morning, no?”
“I learned something from both,” Rose answered. “How was the botany track?”
“Don’t know. I overslept,” he admitted. “Think I must be fighting off a bug.” He dropped sliced meat and cheese on to his plate distractedly and added a pile of lettuce on top. “But who could stand to miss this?”
Rose laughed. “I guess we can’t have traditional foods every day. Unless this counts as the traditional food of American academic conferences.”
“Ah, there is my Rosita. Friends?”
“Of course, Javi. Let’s sit and catch up.” And you can tell me why you’re really here.
Dev vanished into the crowd. Rose suspected he’d find a spot where he could listen in and also see the two of them. That Javi could pose a threat to her still seemed implausible, almost offensive. But she had learned to respect the caution of her protectors—no, her friends. Last summer, Dev had acted with Tom as Aunt Jackie’s bodyguard, putting up with inexcusable rudeness from her family without a word of complaint. And he’d used his field medic skills to help Maji, when he wasn’t giving her grief like a real brother. Maybe that, and not his almost comical charade, was what felt odd. She wanted to embrace him like an old friend but had to treat him like a foreign colleague. This business of maintaining a cover would never feel right, even if she only had to play the role of herself.
Javi pulled out a chair for her and she took it, giving him a mocking look. “I thought chivalry was unfeminist.”
“My head knows that.” He took the seat next to her. “But my family training says to make gestures to show contrition. I was insincere with you and I am sorry, Rose.”
“Where did all that romance nonsense come from, Javi? And please don’t insult me with it again. We both know better.”
Javier’s face went through a series of contortions, speaking in place of words. “It’s so awkward. They coached me to soften you up, insisted I try even though it made no sense. And then of course you were mad at me. Not that it couldn’t have been true. You, me…”
The appeasing body language and cajoling face left Rose flat. “They who?”
Javi straightened up at Rose’s decisive tone, the one she used in the field on the rare occasion when she needed to remind him who was in charge of her fieldwork. “The producers of Mobbed Up. You know, that stupid TV show?”
“No, I don’t follow much TV.” But she could guess. “Are they the ones that want my cousin Sienna and aunt Paola for a new reality show about Mafia wives or whatever?”
He nodded. “They really want you. To class it up, they said. They already blew it with your other tía, the realtor. And your abuela…”
Rose had to laugh at the face he made. Nonna’s version of their attempt to woo her to television celebrity no doubt downplayed how caustic she could be with people she didn’t like. Nonna did not suffer fools—she made sure they suffered. “Oh God, Javi, my family is a living telenovela.” She sombered. “But you couldn’t really think I would want anything to do with reality TV? It’s dreadful.”
“I know, I know. I told them. But Rosita”—he paused, blushing—“I needed the money. They offered to fly me up and pay me by the day to hang out with you. And persuade you to see the glorious opportunity to be one of those people who is famous for nothing. They pay me even if you say no, as of course you will. Just please, don’t rush.”
“Oh, I see. The longer you stay, the more you earn?”
Javi nodded. “My student loans are killing me. This could really help.” He smiled, his usual enthusiasm for travel breaking through. “Sitka is very nice too. I rode the bus all over yesterday, for only five dollars. Such a beautiful land. So different, eh?”
