Identity Crisis. Kate Donovan
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he did begin telling other secrets, and McGregor was pleased with the progress.
Kristie, on the other hand, craved victory not progress. “I keep trying to think of some way to catapult this to the next level,” she told the agent in frustration. “Something you can say to him to make him trust you so completely, he can’t resist sharing details about the syndicate.”
“Patience, Goldie,” McGregor advised her. “Some things are worth waiting for. I promise.”
Did he mean it to sound so seductive? she wondered. So prophetic?
Some things are worth waiting for…
“Okay,” she told him, struggling to keep her tone cool. “We’ll be patient.”
“Right. Manny’s like a fish. We’ve got him hooked. Now we’ve just gotta reel him in.”
So much for seduction, she told herself with a wry laugh, but aloud she insisted, “I’m all ears, McGregor. Educate me.”
To her surprise, he proceeded to do just that, giving her a string of examples from his own early undercover experiences. And while the nominal reason was to teach her the value of patience, she was sure he was also trying to strengthen their newfound connection. The stories were work related, but also profoundly personal, providing glimpses into his life that she hadn’t dared dream she’d ever get.
She needed those moments, not just for the visceral thrill and occasional romantic vibe, but also to keep her from becoming obsessed with the Salinger file, which was easily the most challenging case she had ever faced.
And even if it wasn’t, she was determined to design a scenario that truly knocked the socks off a certain bitchy CIA agent.
As for Salinger himself, Kristie was learning he was one scary guy. No criminal record, but the CIA file identified him as the mastermind behind several “accidents” that were undoubtedly assassinations. He had made a fortune in shipping, which provided both the financial means and the network for his anti-USA activities, while also allowing him to be perceived by the community as a respectable businessman. He left most of his dirty work to a certain bodyguard known as the Axe—a psychopath devoted to serving his boss’s interests.
Salinger’s defining characteristic was his thirst for revenge, which translated into a profound hatred for his native country. It drove his every waking thought, fueled by his certainty that his younger brother’s death in the Gulf War had been orchestrated by high-level U.S. officials to prevent a lucrative contract for one of the president’s campaign contributors. According to the CIA’s file, there was no truth to Salinger’s suspicions about his brother’s death. But given Ray’s cynical assessment of Jane Smith, Kristie reserved judgment on whether the file was accurate on that issue.
Meanwhile, she focused her attention on the target: Salinger’s Palm Springs estate. It was an oasis, carved from the desert, irrigated by the snowcaps of the nearby mountain ranges and resplendent with every luxury known to man, including a private golf course.
The triple-crowning glories of the place were Salinger’s world-renowned cactus garden, his collection of priceless paintings, housed in a rotunda-style gallery in the center of his home, and the art gallery’s domed skylight, fashioned from delicate Italian glass that had been tinted blue and white to resemble a sky filled with clouds.
If Jane Smith’s intel was correct, the safe containing the disk was hidden behind one of the paintings in the glass-roofed gallery. And the more Kristie studied the situation, the more convinced she became that she had to see that gallery in person. Providing the reconnaissance team with a wish list seemed inefficient, when she could go on the scouting trip herself. And since the venue would be a harmless garden party, there was no danger at all, either to the mission or to Kristie personally. The actual operation would still be weeks away and by then, she would be safely back to the East Coast.
She wondered if Jane Smith would see the wisdom in allowing Kristie to attend. Or would the agent just use the suggestion as an opportunity to ridicule SPIN—and Kristie in particular? And even if the agent could be convinced, Kristie knew Ray Ortega would never allow her to actively participate in an operation, however harmless.
But he might just agree to send Melissa Daniels.
Chapter 5
“No. Absolutely not.”
Ray—”
“It’s out of the question. You don’t have the necessary training. You could blow their entire operation.”
“Training? For a flower show?” Kristie rolled her eyes. “I’d just be observing, sketching and making notes. Piece of cake. I’ve already started designing Melissa’s cover identity.” To Jane Smith she explained, “Melissa Daniels is a virtual operative I use sometimes. She can be adapted to fit almost any situation.”
The CIA agent arched an eyebrow at Ray. “Since when do you send your spinners into the field?”
“Since never. And I’m not going to start now.”
“It isn’t fieldwork, it’s research,” Kristie protested. “At a public event with a bunch of cactus lovers. What could possibly go wrong?”
“We all read Salinger’s file,” Ray reminded her. “The guy’s a pervert. He’s got a closet as big as my office filled with sex toys! I don’t want you anywhere near him.”
“What file did you read?” Kristie demanded playfully. “They aren’t sex toys. Just costumes.”
“Just costumes? That’s supposed to make me feel better?”
She laughed. “So he makes his girlfriends dress up for him. I’ll bet rich guys do that all the time. Poor guys, too, for that matter. It’s not perverse. Just healthy fantasizing.”
Ray’s eyes narrowed, and she knew he was picturing the contents of the closet as described in the CIA’s file: harem-girl outfits, mermaid fins, angel wings. And of course, the staples, from leather and metal to silk and satin.
“Salinger’s not going to try anything kinky at a public event,” Jane murmured. “And Kristie’s right about one thing. She’d notice things my operatives might miss. We need to be dead on with this one, Ray. The security of the whole intelligence community depends on it. If she’s willing—”
“I am. It sounds safer than the Laundromat, which is where I usually spend Saturday afternoons.” Kristie flashed a confident smile. “I give you my solemn word I won’t do anything to jeopardize the operation.”
“It’s settled then. Get us your cover story by tomorrow morning and we’ll arrange for this Melissa to be admitted. What’s your preference? Press pass? Fellow cactus lover?”
“Press pass. We’ll say she’s a reporter from Sacramento, flying down to cover the event.”
“Good. You’ll need to use a different last name for her, since you’ve apparently used Daniels before. You can fly out with us Saturday morning. After the show, we’ll debrief you and then send you back, safe and sound.”
“Make arrangements for two,” Ray advised. “I’m going with her.”
“That’s not necessary,” Kristie began, but Jane interrupted them both with a cheerful, “Don’t worry—we don’t let civilians walk around unescorted. She’ll have at least one baby-sitter. Maybe two. I want them to be my people though. It’s been six years since you did any fieldwork, Ray. Let us handle it. I promise we’ll take good care of your girl.”
Kristie grimaced but didn’t say a word until Jane had left the office. Then she turned to Ray and smiled in sincere apology. “Don’t be upset. I’ll be careful. I promise.”
“As Kristie, you’re careful. But as Melissa—” He gave a weary chuckle. “Can you picture her at a garden party? She’s too flamboyant. The whole idea is to blend in.”
“I’m