Code Name: Dove. Judith Leon
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hated her ponytail.
“This is going to be a great party.” Penny glided toward his door.
As he disappeared into his condo, Nova fished her key from the pouch Velcroed to her wrist. Sitting like a Sphinx on the chaise lounge next to the door, Divinity waited, staring northward along the sweep of the Pacific. Nova scooped up the white Angora, kissed the top of her head. One sapphire-blue and one emerald-green eye stared back. Now here was someone a woman could rely on.
“Hi, sweet thing. Penny insists I need a man. Anyone worthwhile drop by?” She draped the cat over her forearm, unlocked the door, felt a buzz saw of purring on her wrist. As she dropped the key onto the entry table beside the door, the state of the room snagged her attention.
“Diva, dear, our home looks a mess.”
Her dark wicker furniture was arranged so dining was done Oriental fashion around a low table in front of the living room picture window. Ten overstuffed green-and-blue lounge cushions reclined in crazy disarray on the carpet or against furniture or walls. Last night’s birthday dinner for ten-year-old Maggie had been a hit, especially Nova’s own gift: a 3-D video game.
She could almost feel Maggie’s small hand in hers. She loved all three of Star’s kids. When they called her “Auntie Nova” she felt like putty. But in Maggie she saw her own tender self before fate had set her feet on this…this bizarre life path.
She rearranged the pillows. When they were in place, things felt right. The condominium was the part of the world over which she had absolute control. And keeping things neat, even too neat according to her sister, gave her that sense of control that she had never felt for too many years of her childhood. She retrieved Diva from the couch and, sauntering down the hallway toward the bedrooms, glanced at the telephone answering machine. No messages.
In the master bedroom she spilled Divinity onto the comforter. The cat became a white puff of fur against the pattern of white, green and yellow swirls. A swath of sun suddenly lanced through the bay window. Two quick sets of sit-ups and push-ups, then she stripped. She took her shower hot and steamy.
Toweled but damp, she slipped into her carmine robe. The usual five brush swipes ordered the straight hair that fell to her shoulder blades. Two more straightened her bangs. She picked a pair of red earrings and tilted her head to locate the always difficult hole in her right earlobe. For some unfathomable reason, she always felt incomplete without earrings.
She picked Divinity up as the phone in the dining-room-converted-into-office jangled. The answering machine clicked on. She stepped into the hall. “Hello, Nova. It’s Leland. Give me a call. This will be a long trip.”
The line went dead.
A bolt of excitement and fear pulled her head up and, unthinking, she stroked too hard. Divinity leaped to the floor, her claws digging into Nova’s arm.
Leland Smith managed Cosmos Travel. He was also her Company contact. They had a code. “Hello, it’s Smitty” meant “CIA business, call in as soon as possible.” “Hello, it’s Leland” he’d used only twice before. It meant urgent, she would have to leave now.
“Sorry, love. Didn’t mean to scare you.”
Her excitement quickly settled to resolve. The grim truth was, the CIA never called unless deaths were involved. The photo contest, the cougars, they all faded to insignificance. “You know how it is when the Company rings. He only says ‘Leland’ when things are especially bad.”
Penny’s admiral and lawyer were going to be disappointed. So would Penny. She wasn’t going to make the party after all.
Anchorage, 3:15 p.m.
Sunday, May 15
Joseph Cardone pulled his overnighter from under the seat of the passenger in front of him, slung it onto the middle seat and stepped into the DC-10’s narrow aisle. The Denver to Anchorage leg of his red-eye from New York held few passengers. As he retrieved his raincoat from the overhead bin, a young, Levi’s-clad couple with a toddler in tow edged past and the kid stumbled over the tip of Joe’s freshly buffed loafers.
With a quick move, he caught the boy. “Hey, big guy, watch for the bumps,” he said, tousling the kid’s blond hair. He sometimes wished, like now, that he had more reasons in his life to be around children, but kids and family…his life wouldn’t be fair to them.
He strolled forward. One of the stewardesses, Rita Halloran, stood in the galley, puttering with stainless-steel coffee urns. He’d spent the better part of the flight exploring what he and Rita Halloran had in common. Most notably so far, they’d both been born in Corpus Christi, Texas. He smiled. “I’d love not to have to say goodbye, at least not just yet.”
It looked as though she might feel the same as he: no professional requirement called for quite that warm a smile. He said, “I have to go on to Fairbanks. The chances are good, though, I’ll be back in Anchorage tonight.” He shifted his overnighter and coat to the other hand and automatically checked his tie. “Can’t be sure I’ll be back. But if I can make it, nothin’ would make this Texas boy happier than the pleasure of your company this evening.”
“The crew stays at the Captain Cook. I’m expected to join friends for dinner at the Crow’s Nest—the restaurant on top. I could get free, though.” She paused, eyes sparkling. “If necessary.”
He tilted toward her on the balls of his feet. “Think of me as a necessity. Please.”
She smiled again. “You got a date, Texas. And by the way, I wouldn’t be too confident about catching the flight out of Fairbanks in time, what with this awful pipeline disaster thing. Everything’s a mess. Pipeline people and investigators out the gazoo going north and south. The captain says they even caught one of them.”
Not good. If the media were already reporting that authorities were holding one of the terrorists, a security breach must have occurred. Joe whipped his pen and a business card, the card that said he was an IBM representative, from his left breast pocket. “Let me have your phone number.”
“Honey—” she was writing in large, flowery curves “—you’re the best-looking Big Blue representative I’ve ever had the pleasure of serving.” He pocketed the number and then turned toward the arched exit. Rita’s soft voice followed him out the door. “I sure will be looking forward to that call.”
The Flight Arrival display indicated that his contact’s plane should arrive in thirty minutes and was on time. He sauntered to the Alaska Airline’s lounge, dropped into a chair, leaned forward with elbows on knees and wished he could shuck the dreads and doubts that clung to him like a cheap, tight-fitting suit. His new partner was female.
Certainly nobody appreciated women more than he. But he had worked his first assignment alone. He’d liked it that way. Then came last night’s call. “You’ll have a partner. She’s highly trained. Very experienced. In fact, when you’ve been with the Company a while longer you’ll learn the Dove is legendary. She has the Deputy Director’s full confidence and will be in charge.”
The caller had made that very clear. He had a partner. She was senior. A woman, code name Dove, would be in charge.
Once again Joe checked his watch. Ten minutes or so and she should arrive. A man seated opposite seized Joe’s attention. Only one side of his face moved. The other side was dead, lifeless.
The flight at the next gate was called and the man rose and disappeared through the loading door.
Joe checked his watch again. Her plane was now late. He stood, paced, sat. If they didn’t make the Fairbanks connection, they’d arrive later, finish later and he’d be back in Anchorage too late to see Corpus Christi’s Miss Halloran.
He heard the high whine that hovers around big jets on the ground. The twenty-odd people waiting with him stirred. The door to the plane’s entry ramp opened. He scanned for “a fair-skinned woman with straight black, Asian hair to her shoulder blades.”
He