Untraceable. Janie Crouch
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younger. If a local cop ran his license or social security number—and it wasn’t unreasonable to think that someone of Vince Cady’s criminal caliber would have at least one police officer on his payroll—it would look real.
So would the credit cards in Sinclair’s name, another way a cover could be easily blown if an operative wasn’t careful. In today’s technologically savvy world, credit cards that had never been used, or a social security number that could be traced back only a couple of years, were easily found and red-flagged. Bob Sinclair’s credit cards had purchases and statements dating back ten years. It was some analyst’s job at Omega to make sure all these electronically trackable items looked as real as possible. Whoever that person was did a damn good job.
The other items from the envelope included business cards for exporting companies and banks around the Baltimore and DC area. Even Sinclair’s library card, randomly placed in his wallet. Plus two photographs. The first was of Bob and Lisa’s wedding day. Evan and Juliet had posed outside a church, in wedding garb, hand in hand and smiling. Rice showered them in the picture, the perfect way to make it look as if a large crowd of people surrounded them. In actuality it had just been a few other agents, who had enjoyed pelting them with rice from every angle.
Evan picked up the other picture and studied it longer. He remembered that day from two years ago with crystal clarity. The photo had been taken in front of the Cape Henry Lighthouse on Chesapeake Bay in Virginia, during the winter. He and Juliet had driven there for the express purpose of getting this memento from the Sinclairs’ secluded “honeymoon” so they could both have a copy in their wallet. A couple who posed as being in love with each other as much as Bob and Lisa did would definitely have pictures of each other with them at all times. Plus, it gave them added history, a more firm timeline.
Details like that could be the difference between life and death in an undercover operation.
For the photo, Evan had scooped Juliet up and cradled her in his arms. They’d asked a stranger to take their picture with their little disposable camera, explaining they were on their honeymoon. The stranger had gladly obliged, but had insisted Evan and Juliet seal the moment with a kiss.
The kiss had started out brief, just a staged moment for a picture. But then Evan had found he hadn’t wanted to stop kissing Juliet. And judging by the way she clung to him, she hadn’t wanted to stop, either. Her soft lips and warm mouth had been so different from the cold air that had surrounded them.
They had both totally forgotten about the stranger taking their picture, who evidently at some point had just left the camera on a nearby step and walked away, giving the “newlyweds” their privacy. When Evan and Juliet had finally broken apart, they’d both been breathing heavily. And had been confused as hell about what had just happened between them—so unexpected, but so perfectly right at the same time.
They’d been about to go undercover on a critical operation, however, so both of them had pushed whatever had just happened between them aside. Something to deal with later.
Of course, if Evan had known what would happen later, he would’ve made very different choices that day. He would have driven to the nearest hotel and made love with Juliet until neither of them could walk.
Evan took the credit cards and pictures and put them back into the wallet. Maybe it would’ve changed everything, maybe it would’ve changed nothing. He’d never know.
He took Bob Sinclair’s wedding ring and slipped it on his finger. He might as well start getting used to its weight. He picked up the Saint Christopher necklace—Bob and Lisa had matching ones—and placed the chain around his neck. He kissed the medallion as Bob Sinclair had always done.
Evan stood and began packing everything away, straightening up his desk a little. If everything went the way they hoped, he wouldn’t be here in Omega HQ very often over the next few days, for it would be too dangerous. He had done all he could do here at the office. He grabbed the keys to the SUV he’d be driving until the case was over.
It was time to slip on the Bob Sinclair persona. To think like him, walk like him, become him.
Juliet found herself back at Omega Headquarters the next morning, early again. But for once her early arrival wasn’t due to unreasonable fears and memories driving her from her home. Today she was in because she wanted to be, in order to provide Evan with any support he would need while meeting with Vince Cady.
She didn’t expect there would be a whole lot she could do. Evan wouldn’t be wearing a wire or transmitting device. No agent would take something like that to a first meeting with a perpetrator when he or she was sure to be searched; it would be a quick way to get killed. But if Evan needed any info, or advice Juliet could provide, she wanted to be there for his call.
She felt guilty enough for sending him in alone, but determined not to rehash all that again today. She would just do what she could from this end.
She stopped at the coffee shop down the block from Omega, ordered a cup of her favorite brew and made her way to the nondescript front doors of Sector Headquarters. The lobby of Omega could be mistaken for any financial or business building on the outskirts of Washington, DC. A security desk sat in front of the elevators. Everyone had to show their badges to get by. Nothing unusual.
But it was inside the elevators where the true security started. A retinal and fingerprint scan, as well as an individualized code, were required before a passenger was taken to any secure floor. Nobody just walked off the streets and got into Omega.
It was the reason Juliet felt safe here, when she didn’t anywhere else.
The morning ended up being as uneventful as she had hoped. She sat at her desk, monitoring all calls and electronic submissions that might be coming from Evan. But except for a brief text stating the meeting was confirmed for 11:00 a.m. near the Baltimore Pier, they hadn’t heard anything from him. No news wasn’t necessarily good news in this business, but it wasn’t necessarily bad news, either.
Juliet forced herself to relax. She’d feel better once Evan’s initial meeting with Vince Cady was complete. So much rode on this one event.
Her brother Sawyer stuck his head in the door. “Heard from Karcz?”
“A couple of hours ago. Everything seemed good. Meeting scheduled for eleven.” Juliet looked down at the clock on one of the computer screens she had open. Five minutes to eleven. Moment of truth.
“Cam and I are headed into DC proper. Bomb threat issue and the Bureau needs some extra hands. All available agents are headed in.”
Juliet nodded. “Okay. Well, I’ve definitely got it covered here. Just waiting for Evan to check in after the meeting. Nothing I can really do except wait. But in case he needs any emergency info I want to be standing by.”
“Okay, sis. We’ll be on cell phone silence because of the bomb threat. FBI on the scene is concerned that the perps might be using a cell to detonate, so they’re jamming all frequencies.”
“I’ll figure something out if I need you. I’m expecting a boring day.”
Sawyer left and Juliet went back to her work. One computer actively monitored the Baltimore Police Department. They had no idea what was going on with this case, so could actually stumble in and do harm if she wasn’t careful. She’d give them info on a need-to-know basis, if it looked as if they might interfere with the case somehow. She’d also been reading through the files of Vince Cady’s known associates all morning. Nothing terribly interesting there, either, but Juliet wanted to make sure she was up to speed on all the names and faces.
She almost missed it. Amid the chaos of the monitors and files, hypervigilant in her effort to make sure she could provide any support Evan might need—overcompensating for guilt much?—Juliet almost missed the single communiqué that could bring the entire operation crashing down.
It was an automated email from