Cameron Poe - Red Agenda

It was at least 350 kilometers to Simferopol, and the next flight wouldn’t leave until the morning. As Mohsen’s plane fired up its engines and taxied away, George decided there was no point in worrying about it until he could get there. A hotel room and a shower sounded extremely good now. He would have to use this time to set up a support system on Crimea.

After he made a reservation on the morning flight, George made a long-distance call. The overseas operator connected him to the United States and then passed it along to a small ranch house located in Big Horn, Wyoming. A man with a husky voice and a boondock accent answered.

“Quarter Circle A Ranch. What can I help you with?” The man spoke in a genuinely happy tone.

“I have a collect call from a Mike Bowman,” said the operator as she passed on George’s code name for that month.

Without missing a step, the man responded. “Sure, we’ll pay for the charges.” George never knew the guy, but he was good and extremely professional. He never tensed, and he was always on top of the code. Because he was so good, George used him the least. He saved him for special situations, like this one.

“Hi, Pop.” He made a conscious effort to wipe away any accent from his English.

“How’s everything going, Mike?”

“Not bad. I just lost my luggage, though. It got on the wrong plane to Simferopol.”

“You need me to send you anything FedEx?”

“Yeah, if you could. Besides some more clothes, I could use the headphones to my iPod and another memory stick for the camera.”

“Can’t you get some there?”

“Naw. They’re all knockoffs. My phones sound better than the crap they have over here. These sound as if there’s breaking glass in the background all the time. They’re annoying.”

“Okay. Anything else?”

“Money?”

“I could have guessed.” The husky voice laughed. “They take American?”

“It’s all dollars over here. Thanks, Pop. Hopefully I can catch up with my bags tomorrow.”

“Oh, by the way, Mike. Where do we send this stuff?”

George hesitated. “Good question. I’ll tell you what. I’m flying to Simferopol tomorrow. I’ll call you from there when I’ve figured the rest out.”

“That sounds fine.” The voice at the other end sounded reassuring. “Just give us a ring if you need anything else.”

“I will, Pop. Thanks.” George hung up the phone. He ran over the conversation in his head and was satisfied that he had communicated everything he needed. He picked up his small bag and headed for the first hotel. Exhaustion quaked his body. It wasn’t from anything physical. It was all mental. Time and again George wished this operation had been laid out like a real operation. Ones that are made-up-as-you-go tend to be more draining. The tension took its toll, and it showed. Just a good night’s sleep , is what he told himself. Tomorrow is another day.

Within nine minutes, George’s conversation had been transferred to CIA headquarters. It was three thirty in the morning when Dan Archer rolled over to answer the phone. He grunted a response a few times to the person at the other end who was telling him that there was a priority message waiting in his office.

Sleep was something from which Dan had a hard time shaking himself. He dialed Sharon’s number, and she answered the phone in the same manner.

“Hello.”

“Get up, Super Secretary. I need you to be at the office within the hour.” He turned on his light, forcing himself from the bed.

“Please, Dan, not now. Can’t it wait?” Sharon half meant what she said. She really did not want to get up.

“This part of the job was in the fine print you neglected to read on your contract.”

“I’m W-2.”

“Doesn’t matter. Uncle Sam needs you to help me save the world.”

“Oh, I see. Much better now. I’ll be there,” she mumbled.

“Thanks. If we finish early, you can have the rest of the day off.” Dan never liked overworking his people. He tried to give them breaks whenever he could.

“Thanks, boss. See you in a bit. Bye.” She hung up the phone, trying carefully not to wake Beth.

But Beth was already awake. “Who was that, babe?”

“Dan. Something came in tonight, and we need to get to it.”

“It must be important.”

“He only calls if it is. Don’t get up because of me. I’ll be gone in a few minutes.”

Sharon staggered to the bathroom door. When Beth heard the water running, she reached for the phone.

The orange morning sun was gleaming through the office window when Sharon arrived. She looked disheveled because of the early hour and wore sweats.

“I hope this is important.” She didn’t mind poking fun even at such an egregious hour.

“I’ve got a short but important grocery list,” said Dan.

“Tell me what it is, and I’ll make sure it gets handled.”

“First I need one light-sensitive audio listening device and ten thousand in cash.”

“Where is it going? My bank account, snicker, snicker.”

“You wish. I’ll tell you when the package is ready. Then I need a list of secondary agents in the Black Sea. Someone in Crimea. They need to be activated within the hour.” Dan opened his window and listened to the birds singing in the morning sun. It helped him wake up.

“On it.” She excused herself and opened the door to leave, but she found Levi Carp on the other side, standing like he was ready to knock on the door with the handle of his cane. Sharon shrieked before she could gain her composure.

“I didn’t mean to startle you, Miss Dailey. I saw the office light on and decided to drop by before I went to work.”

“You always come in this early?” retorted Dan. Sharon left without saying a word.

“Not often. I’ve never seen your office before. It’s nice. Small, but nice.”

“It suits me.” Dan didn’t want to contend with him this early.

Levi sat in the guest chair, making himself comfortable. “I wanted to talk to you about Bluebird. How’s that going?” He spotted the transmission on Dan’s desk.

Dan narrowed his eye at Levi’s question. “Slowly. Mohsen went to Istanbul, and we lost him there.” Telling him anything ate at Dan. This mission wasn’t Levi’s business—yet.

“Is Mohsen headed to Sevastopol?”

“Why would you say that? We only know that he boarded a flight to Crimea. Bluebird couldn’t get on.”

Levi smiled. “I had my agents locate Stemovich. He lives in a town called Sevastopol. That’s where Mohsen is headed.”

Nice of you to be so prompt with the information , thought Dan.

“What’s the transmission for?” Levi reached for it, but Dan grabbed it first.

“It’s a laundry list.”

“Bluebird?”

“Yes.”

“May I see the code?”

Dan wanted to tell him to fuck off, but there was enough tension between them already, and he didn’t want to create any more. Sometime down the road he might need Levi’s help, and he didn’t want to be refused. Grudgingly, he surrendered the transmission.

It took Levi only a brief glance. “Good code. This stuff is usually with the urgent messages. He must feel it could be something big.”

“I know what it says,” snapped Dan. He didn’t mean to sound angry, but he also didn’t need a lesson in codes.

“Sorry, Dan. Didn’t mean to step on your toes.”

Dan caught himself and searched for an excuse. “I got up too early. I’m a little on edge.”