Читать книгу Serious Risks - Rachel Lee - Страница 6

Chapter 1

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“Somebody stole a classified document from my safe last night.”

The breathless, nervous claim over the telephone brought Special Agent Arlen Coulter upright in his chair and banished every other thought from his head. A perfectly routine afternoon of reviewing case reports from his agents lost the last vestige of ordinariness. Swiftly reaching across his desk, he pulled over a legal pad and a pen.

“What’s your name?” he asked the woman. “And where are you calling from?”

“My name is Jessica Kilmer, and I’m calling from a pay phone on the interstate.”

“Give me the number in case we get disconnected.” He made her recite it twice to be sure he got it right. In the background he could hear the whiz and roar of the late-afternoon traffic. “Okay, Ms. Kilmer,” he said. “Tell me about it.”

There was a shuddery breath from the other end of the phone. “I work for MTI—Military Technologies, Inc. We do a lot of defense work.”

“I’m familiar with MTI,” Arlen said. Indeed he was. MTI ranked as the area’s second-largest defense contractor. “Go on, ma’am.”

“Someone took a classified document from my safe during the night,” she repeated unsteadily, as if she couldn’t quite believe her own words. “I’m the only one who has the combination, except for the copy that security keeps in their vault.”

Arlen leaned forward tensely. Possibilities were already flitting through his head, not the least of them that this was a crank call. In the past he had worked in counterintelligence in the Washington, D.C., area, so he knew just how common espionage was. Nevertheless, this was the first hint of it that he had gotten during his entire six years in Austin, Texas. Still, the woman knew things that only someone engaged in classified work would know, such as the fact that security would have the only other combination to a classified safe. “You’re sure the document is missing?”

“Oh, yes.” She expelled the words on another unsteady breath. “I went through every folder in the safe, in case it was misfiled.”

“It couldn’t have been left out by accident?” Arlen kept his voice calm, nonaccusatory. Once a witness was put on the defensive, you could forget any hope of getting a straight story.

“No. I haven’t had it out of the safe in several weeks. It was there last night when I filed the document that comes just before it. I know it was there!”

The rising tone of her voice conveyed her frustration and concern as no words could have. Arlen felt a small twinge of sympathy for her, but he put it firmly aside. He couldn’t afford to allow his mind or his judgment to be clouded by sympathy.

“I believe you, Ms. Kilmer,” he said soothingly. “Have you told anyone else about the theft?”

“I reported it to security,” she answered, and now her tone was indignant. “They’re insisting I must have mislaid it or misfiled it or loaned it to someone, because I’m the only one with the combination to the safe. That’s the whole point, and they’re missing it. That’s why I’m calling you! The point is, someone opened that safe last night. Someone else has the combination!”

Arlen didn’t need to have the ramifications of that statement spelled out. If someone else had the combination, there was no telling how often that person had gained access to Jessica Kilmer’s safe. There was no way to know how many other safes at MTI this supposed spy might have combinations for, or how often he might have invaded them. Or how many classified documents he might have stolen, photographed, copied—the list of potential abuses was catastrophic.

Arlen addressed Jessica Kilmer. “Are you going back to work?”

She gave a shaky, mirthless laugh. “Hardly. By the time they got through grilling me and insinuating that I have the IQ of an insect, I had a splitting headache. I’m going home.”

“Just a few more questions, Ms. Kilmer, if you’re up to it.”

“Yes, of course.”

“Does anyone know you’re calling the FBI? The security people at your company, perhaps?”

“No, no one knows.” Jessica Kilmer sighed heavily. Even over the phone, her weariness and frustration were apparent to Arlen. “The security people aren’t planning to tell anyone about this just yet. They’re evidently convinced that the report will show up and that they’ll be able to explain the whole thing in some fashion that won’t reflect badly on them or the company.”

“And you don’t believe that.”

“How can I? I know that document was there when I locked my safe last night, and I know it was gone when I opened it this morning. There’s no way that can be explained as carelessness or an accident.”

No, indeed, Arlen thought. He glanced at his watch and noted that it was nearly five. “Ms. Kilmer, we need to discuss this in more detail. Can we get together somewhere this evening, say a restaurant?”

There was a brief, hesitant silence. “Wouldn’t it be more convenient for you if I came to your office?”

Arlen couldn’t suppress a smile, and he was sure she must be able to hear it in his voice. “There’s no question it would be more convenient, Ms. Kilmer, but until we get some idea of the size of this mess and who might be involved, I don’t want anyone to know you’ve contacted the Bureau. Our offices are in the busiest part of downtown, and there’s always the unwelcome possibility that someone who knows you might see you come in here.”

“Meeting at a restaurant just seems a little irregular, I guess.”

He understood her trepidation and tried to tease her out of it. “Believe me, Ms. Kilmer, I’ve questioned people in places that are a lot more irregular than any restaurant could ever be.”

There was another very brief silence, and then Jessica Kilmer laughed, a genuinely amused sound. When he heard that, Arlen knew he’d taken the first step to establishing a rapport with the lady, a rapport that would be absolutely essential if it should turn out that they had to work together. And if she was right about this document, they would unquestionably wind up spending a lot of time together.

“Actually, ma’am, we’re not so very different from your local police force. When you call to report something, we generally visit you to get the information. It would be just as easy for me to come to your home, if that would be more convenient for you. My only requirement is that we meet in a place where I can question you without interruption. It’s very important that you don’t get distracted and forget to tell me something.”

“All right, all right,” Jessica said with a laugh. “Let me give you my address.” She rattled off a street and number, then added, “I just moved in a couple of weeks ago, so I’m still neck-deep in packing boxes.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “I’ll never notice.”

“What time should I expect you?”

“Say around seven, if that’s okay by you.”

“That’s just fine.”

“And, Ms. Kilmer? Don’t tell anyone at all that you called the FBI. I realize that sounds cloak-and-daggerish, but secrecy is essential. You wouldn’t want word of this conversation to get back to the wrong person.”

How could she possibly tell anyone what she couldn’t quite believe herself? Jessica wondered as she climbed back into her car. She’d actually called the FBI! Her stomach, which had been sinking all day anyway, sank further at the significance of that realization. She forced herself to ignore the sensation, just as she had all day long. Other than dread and worry, the only other feeling she’d had today had been indignation.

And frustration. She had always believed the facility security officer to be a reasonably intelligent man, but now she seriously wondered. Was she the only person with the wit to understand the gravity of what she’d been saying all day: that someone else had the combination to her safe?

Mr. Coulter had apparently understood, she reminded herself, and felt reassured that her decision to call the FBI was correct. Correct? Of course it was correct! The company’s own Security Practice Procedures Manual said that the FBI should be informed if espionage was suspected, preferably from a pay phone off-site so there was no chance of being overheard. And Jessica most definitely suspected espionage.

By the time she arrived at home, however, she was remembering the suspicion with which her every statement had been heard by the security officer. Barron obviously thought Jessica was making everything up to conceal her own negligence. What if Coulter suspected the same thing?

Usually when Jessica stepped into the antique elegance of her two-story Victorian house she experienced the pride of her new ownership, the thrill of at last having a real home of her own. Tonight, however, all she felt was the weight of the mortgage, reminding her that she couldn’t afford job trouble. Not now. Not as long as she owed that payment every month. Not as long as most of her hard-earned savings, accumulated by scrimping for five long years, were tied up in the house.

What if Barron managed to hang the missing document on her?

As seven o’clock drew closer, Jessica grew edgier. She’d never been questioned by the FBI before—or any policeman, for that matter—and she found herself wondering why she hadn’t just let MTI security handle it. They couldn’t prove she had taken the document, no matter how much they might want to believe it. What if this FBI agent wanted to believe the same thing? What if he thought her call to him was all a smoke screen?

What if he got rough?

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Jessica!” she said disgustedly to her reflection in the bathroom mirror as she finished brushing her teeth. “He’s an FBI agent! They don’t get rough except with criminals.” And spies?

“I am not a spy!”

She knew it, and so did the small, pale face staring back at her from the mirror. Pushing her eyeglasses up her nose, Jessica gazed into her own wide, worried brown eyes and thought she looked exactly, exactly, like a small brown mouse pinned by an eagle’s eye.

A few strands of dark hair had escaped from the confines of her chignon, and she smoothed them back into place. Outwardly, at least, there was no nonsense about Jessica Kilmer. She might have the world’s most inventive, overactive imagination, but no one would ever guess it by looking at her.

On the other hand, she thought with a sigh, she wasn’t quite passing as her usual businesslike self, not with worry stamped all over her face. “Mouse” was the kindest description she could give herself.

The front doorbell sounded, and Jessica’s stomach plunged instantly in response. Oh, God, the FBI is here!

A real, honest-to-gosh FBI agent.

“Cut it out,” she told her reflection with more conviction than she really felt. “He puts his pants on one leg at a time, just like anybody else.”

She headed downstairs, drew a deep breath, expelled it and opened the door.

And looked into the grayest eyes she’d ever seen. Not the pallid color that might be blue or green depending on the light, but gray like flannel, and fringed in thick, dark lashes. His hair was a rich, very dark brown, threaded with silver, and a little longer than she’d expected. Evidently FBI agents didn’t have to wear military-style haircuts anymore.

He was tall, over six feet to her five foot two, broad shouldered, narrow hipped. Elegant-looking, especially in a gray suit, white shirt and dark tie. He wasn’t, thank goodness, handsome. Handsome would have been too much to handle. No, he was simply attractive. His face was at best pleasant, regular featured.

But nothing in her life prepared her for this man’s total impact. The term sex appeal took on a whole new meaning for her in that instant, an understanding that might have frightened her except that there was nothing wolfish in his expression or posture. In fact, he was giving her a very pleasant smile and holding out his hand.

“Ms. Kilmer? I’m Arlen Coulter.”

Jessica felt her hand swallowed in his firm, warm grip and heard herself say something courteous in response, and tried not to notice the very acute and observant way his gaze measured her.

Arlen recognized her nervousness, but it hardly surprised him. Most people were nervous at the prospect of dealing with the FBI. He saw past the nervousness, though, past the no-nonsense hairstyle and the high-collared white blouse and neatly pressed gray slacks. Behind the armor there was waiflike vulnerability. It peeped uncertainly out at him from the depths of astonishingly bright brown eyes, and, to him at least, it would have been much less obvious had she not gone to such great lengths to hide it.

“A pleasure, Ms. Kilmer,” he said, releasing her hand. In order to seem less threatening, he plunged his hands into the front pockets of his slacks and waited for her invitation to enter. She continued to look uncertainly up at him, and then color rose from the neck of her blouse to meet the roots of her hair. Where did that blush start? he wondered, and felt an unexpected stirring of his body.

Jessica licked her dry lips, unaware that the small, nervous gesture had an electric effect on the tall man who stood so casually before her in a conservative gray suit. “I, um, I don’t mean to be offensive, but can I see your badge, or whatever?”

Arlen’s smile broadened a shade, and he reached into the inside breast pocket of his suit jacket. Handing her the slim leather wallet, he said, “I’m not offended. The whole reason I have ID is so people can ask to see it. All you’ve done is show me you’re not gullible, Ms. Kilmer.”

Jessica, who wouldn’t have recognized a valid FBI identity card or badge if it had stood up and bitten her, stared at the contents of the wallet and registered the words Arlen V. Coulter, Special Agent, Federal Bureau of Investigation. Her blush deepening, she passed the wallet back.

“Please come in, Mr. Coulter. Or do I call you Agent Coulter?”

“If you insist,” he said with a smile as he followed her through the gleaming entry hall and into a living room where packing boxes still occupied quite a bit of space. “I’d prefer it if you’d just call me Arlen. We’re probably going to be seeing quite a bit of one another.”

Jessica smiled shyly as she offered him a seat. “You can call me Jessica. Would you like some coffee?”

“Not just now, thanks. Maybe later.”

Jessica settled onto the couch, facing the armchair where she’d seated Arlen, and watched as he pulled a pad and pen out of his breast pocket. He had blunt-fingered, large hands, competent, capable-looking hands. Their movements were calm, controlled. As was he, she realized. Everything about him was controlled, even his smile.

“I’ll probably need to get an official statement from you later, but for the moment, why don’t we just go over what happened?” He offered what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “The questions may get a little repetitious, but I need to be sure you aren’t inadvertently overlooking something. All right?”

Jessica nodded and clasped her hands tightly, wondering why the living room suddenly seemed small. She’d considered it a pleasantly large room until Arlen Coulter entered it, but he seemed to fill it completely.

And there was a wedding ring on his left hand. She noticed the gold band with an unexpected stab of disappointment and wondered why it should matter.

Arlen spoke. “Jessica, why don’t you tell me a little bit about your job and the kind of classified information you work with.”

“I’m a programmer,” she explained. “I work on software for Department of Defense applications. Right now I’m designing a package that’s intended to be able to pick out planes and incoming missiles from all the electronic countermeasures that are available to confuse radar.”

Arlen was impressed. “Can it?”

“It’s too soon to tell yet, but in theory it should work.”

“How long have you been working on defense applications?”

“Six years.”

In answer to his prompting, she described some of the other programs she’d worked on over the years. Listening to her, watching her, Arlen realized a couple of things. This lady was very bright, and she loved her work. As she spoke, she grew animated, using her hands and smiling, and her eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. At this new glimpse of the woman behind the uptight, severe facade, Arlen wondered what had happened to her to make her want to hide her vitality. Not that it mattered, he reminded himself. He was here as an agent to do a job, not to wonder about a woman who was young enough to be his daughter.

Eventually he brought her back to the events of the past day. Her animation faded, to be replaced by the nervous worry he’d seen when he first arrived.

“At the end of the day,” Jessica explained, “I lock up everything I work with—my files, my hard drive from the computer, any paper I’ve scribbled on or written on. I don’t bother sorting at night, because I’m tired and might make a mistake. In the morning I’ll decide which stuff needs to be burned, but in the evening I just lump it all into an envelope and file it in my safe.”

“What kind of safe do you have?”

“It’s a GSA-approved four-drawer cabinet.” All safes used for the storage of classified information had to be approved by the General Services Administration, or GSA, an indication that the safe met certain standards.

Arlen nodded. “What level material do you keep in it?”

“Just Secret and Confidential. If I need to use Top Secret or special-access information, like Secret Compartmented Information, I check them out of the vault downstairs and return them at the end of the day.”

“And last night you followed your usual procedure.”

Jessica nodded, clasping her hands together so tightly that Arlen saw her knuckles turn white.

“Why don’t you run through it again for me? Just so I can be sure I have it right.”

Jessica nodded again. “I take my hard disk out—”

“Just a second,” Arlen interrupted. “You take your computer apart every night?”

Jessica shook her head. “I have an external, removable hard disk. It’s designed for this kind of thing. I can take it off my system in just a minute, and I always store it in the top drawer of my safe, unless for some reason there’s material of a higher classification on it. Then I take it to the vault.”

“Okay. You put your hard disk in the top drawer. Then what?”

“Then I pick up any documents I’ve pulled, and I file them in their proper folders in the other drawers. When that’s done, I pick up whatever scraps of paper there are that I’ve scribbled on, doodled on or whatever, put them in a manila envelope and file them in the suspense folder I keep at the front of the second drawer.” Seeing the question form on his lips, she hastened to explain. “The suspense file just means the stuff in it is suspended, set aside to deal with later.”

He nodded. “And that’s how you know the missing document was there last night?”

“That’s right.” Realizing suddenly that her fingers were aching from the tight way she had folded her hands, Jessica unlaced them and wiggled them to relax them. “I always put the suspense file right in front of it.”

Arlen watched her wiggle her fingers, pursing his lips thoughtfully. “And you’re sure it was there?”

Jessica’s eyes snapped to his face. “Yes.” She said it with conviction.

Arlen’s gray eyes lifted from her hands to her eyes, and they no longer held any of the warmth and friendliness she’d seen in them earlier. “I have to ask these questions, Jessica. They’re not intended to be offensive. How is it you’re sure the document was there? Usually when we do things in certain ways they become so habitual that we don’t really notice. Did you really see that document last night, or do you just think you saw it?”

Her hands knotted into fists on her lap. “I saw it,” she said flatly. “The folder it was in is red, and the three folders behind it are blue. If that folder was gone, I’d have noticed it instantly, the way I noticed it was missing this morning.”

Arlen nodded and wrote in his notebook. “Okay,” he said pleasantly. “I believe you. The folder was there last night. You filed the suspense file in front of it?”

“Yes.”

“And then?”

“I closed the drawer and locked the safe.”

“How did you lock the safe?”

Jessica sighed. “I turned the dial four full rotations and tested the lever. It was locked.”

“And it was still locked when you came to work this morning?”

Jessica opened her mouth to respond, and then hesitated, her brown eyes widening. “I don’t know,” she said after a moment. “I always turn the dial four times before I start to work the combination. And I never try the lever before I enter the combination.”

“So it could have been closed but unlocked this morning.”

She nodded. “But I don’t see—”

“Don’t you find it odd that the entire folder was missing?” Arlen asked her.

Jessica’s reply was tart. “To tell you the truth, I haven’t been allowed any time today to think about anything, least of all whether what happened was odd. Of course it was odd. It was odd that anything disappeared overnight. I still don’t see.”

“Well, if you were going to steal classified information, would you leave such an obvious footprint? Wouldn’t it make more sense to photograph the document and put it back? Or photocopy it and replace it?”

“Well, yes, of course,” Jessica agreed. “But if you didn’t have time—” Her eyes widened. “Oh!” she said on a breath. “Oh!”

“Exactly.” Arlen smiled faintly. “Did you come to work early this morning, by any chance?”

The expression on her face answered the question even before she spoke. “I was a half hour early because I wanted to check out something I thought of last night.”

Arlen spread his hands, as if to say, “See?” “Could I take you up on that coffee now, Jessica?”

“Yes, of course.” She went to the kitchen to get it, impressed with how quickly Arlen Coulter had picked up on something she’d entirely missed, something even the security officer, Dave Barron, had entirely missed, in spite of all the questioning she’d endured today.

She was also uncomfortably impressed with a few other things, like how good Arlen Coulter looked. Few men her own age and younger looked half as good as Arlen did, and he must be somewhere over forty. He also made her uncomfortably aware of him. And of herself. She was most definitely not accustomed to such feelings, and she supposed she should be grateful that he was a married man and therefore could be no more than a passing and temporary ripple in her tranquility. She would get used to how good he looked, and that would be that.

An expression of determination on her face, she marched back into the living room with a tray bearing two cups of coffee, the sugar bowl and creamer. Setting the tray on the cherry coffee table between them, she asked, “Cream or sugar?”

“Black, thank you.” Arlen looked at the dainty china cups and saucers with their delicate pattern of roses and wondered when was the last time he had seen anyone serve coffee in anything but a mug. Aunt Celeste, he remembered. His wife’s great-aunt had always served coffee in bone china teacups. It wasn’t until Andrew was born that Celeste had astonished Arlen one day by handing him a large mug with his name painted on its side. “You’ve accommodated to our family customs a great deal, my boy,” she’d said in her stentorian voice, “and I thought it was high time we accommodated to one of yours.” Until she died at the age of ninety, Celeste had made sure that Arlen’s coffee was always served in a mug whenever he visited any of his wife’s relatives. Damn, he still missed the warm, wonderful, tough old lady.

“These are lovely cups,” he said now to Jessica, compelled by his memory of the elderly woman. Celeste had taught him whatever drawing-room manners he could claim, and Lord knew there were few enough.

Jessica smiled with pleasure. “Thank you. I found them in an antique shop a few months ago. The entire set, in fact, without a chip or a missing piece.” They’d cost dearly, but they were an essential part of the home she was trying to create.

“They remind me of some dishes my wife’s aunt used to have,” Arlen remarked. “I’ve been terrified of breaking the darn things ever since the first time I ate dinner at Aunt Celeste’s.” He gave Jessica a rueful smile. “She was a wonderful old lady, but her blasted dishes have haunted my entire adult life. They must be a hundred years old, and every time they get passed on to a new generation, they just take on more sentimental value. Aunt Celeste got them as a wedding gift from her husband. Then, when she passed on, they went to my wife, and now my daughter has them.”

His daughter had them? Jessica felt she had missed something somewhere. “Your daughter has them?” she repeated questioningly.

Arlen looked up from the cup, his gray eyes unfocused. “I’m afraid my wife is gone.”

“Gone?”

Jessica’s eyes strayed to his ring, and Arlen followed the direction of her gaze.

“I haven’t been able to bring myself to take it off,” he admitted. “She died over three years ago.”

Jessica hardly knew how to respond to that. “I’m sorry,” she said hesitantly.

Arlen shook his head, giving her another rueful smile. “My fault for wearing the ring.” Lifting one of the delicate cups, he took a sip of coffee. “The coffee is delicious, Jessica.”

“Thank you.” A widower who still wore his wedding ring after three years was as safe as a married man, she figured. Maybe safer. And probably a whole lot safer when he was an FBI agent.

“Okay.” Arlen picked up his pad again and made a quick note. “Let’s get back to this morning, Jessica. What exactly did you do when you arrived at MTI? Start in the parking lot.”

So she took him step-by-step through a day that had grown more frustrating with each passing minute. From the parking lot she had entered the building through the main entrance. Most mornings security waved her through on sight because the day shift recognized her well after six years. This morning, however, she’d arrived before the shift change and had had to stop to display her identification. It had been a small, routine matter, and she had taken the opportunity to clip her badge on her collar, where it would have to stay the rest of the day anyhow.

The empty elevator had carried her up to the second-floor corridor, and a brief walk had brought her to the locked door of the controlled area that held her office, along with a dozen others. There she had keyed in her code on the alphanumeric keypad beside the door, and the door had unlocked for her.

Once in her office, she had opened her safe to remove the items she needed for work: first the hard disk, which she installed in the drive case attached to the side of her computer. Then she had pulled out the second drawer of the safe, and it was as she was removing the suspense envelope that she noted the conspicuous absence of the red folder that contained a Secret NATO document.

Her first thought, of course, was that she was mistaken, that somehow the hanging file folder had come off the tracks and slipped down between the other folders to the bottom of the drawer. Item by item she had examined the contents of the drawer, checking every red folder twice, finally examining each and every one of the blue folders and their Confidential documents, as well.

“And that’s when you called security?” Arlen asked.

“No.” Jessica flushed faintly. “I decided I must have been mistaken about where the folder was last night. So I looked through the bottom drawers, too. Document by document. That’s when I called security.”

Arlen’s pen made faint noises as it moved quickly across a fresh page in his notebook. “You said you were sure the document was there last night.”

“I was. I am. It’s just that when I couldn’t find it this morning, the last thought that occurred to me was that somebody had gotten into my safe overnight. It was easier to believe I was mistaken.”

He looked up, and his expression was reassuring. “I know. But I have to ask.”

And he kept on asking. At some point or other, Jessica started to feel immune to the implications of some of the questions and found herself more aware of Arlen. The longer she was with him, the more she became cognizant of his magnetism.

“Jessica?”

Her gaze focused on Arlen, and a painful blush crept into her face.

“You’re tired,” he said kindly. “Just a few more questions, if you think you can stand it.”

Her cheeks felt as if they were on fire, and she had to remind herself that Arlen Coulter couldn’t read her mind. “Sure,” she managed to say. “I’m not all that tired.”

“Did you change the combination on your safe today?”

Jessica shook her head. “I don’t know how to do it. Security always does that, and since they don’t believe that somebody got into my safe last night, I don’t think they’re going to change it.”

Arlen slapped his notebook closed and hooked his pen onto the cover. “I’ll tell you what I think is going to happen tomorrow. I may be wrong, but if I’m right, I want you prepared to carry it off.”

Jessica leaned forward a little, fixing her gaze attentively on his face. There was a faint, jagged scar under his lower lip, running diagonally from the corner of his mouth to the center of his chin. That must be what gave his smile that interesting lopsidedness.

“I think,” Arlen said slowly, watching her from intent gray eyes, “the missing document will turn up sometime tomorrow.”

Jessica’s eyes widened behind her glasses, and her lips parted on a breath. “Why?”

Did she, Arlen wondered, have the least idea what that expression did to a man, even one as old and abused as he was? Probably not, he decided. If she had, she would have saved it for someone worth spending it on.

“Because,” he replied, forcing his attention back to business, “the only way to minimize the damage that was caused by your discovery of the document’s disappearance is to put it back in a way that makes it look as if you mislaid it.”

Jessica blinked and straightened with indignation. “Frame me, you mean!”

“I figured that would be your reaction,” Arlen said soothingly. “Just listen for a moment.”

Jessica’s eyes were snapping, but she sat back, compressed her lips and gave him a short nod.

Arlen managed to smother a smile. “Okay,” he said. “The document will turn up, and it’ll be pinned on you as carelessness or forgetfulness. Security will believe it, because they can get out of this with a decision that nothing’s been compromised, and a reprimand to you will close the entire matter. They’ll write their letter to the Defense Investigative Service explaining the events and the actions taken, and the worst that will happen is that DIS will pull an unannounced inspection to ensure that MTI’s security is up to snuff.”

“And I’ll have a written security reprimand in my personnel file,” Jessica reminded him sharply.

“Only temporarily,” Arlen said. “Only until we get this mess settled. I promise you I’ll personally see to clearing your record with the company. In the meantime, Jessica, how would you like to work with the FBI?”

“But I have a job.” At least for now, she added to herself.

“And you’ll keep it. No, I want you to work with me on this case. You’ll be my inside contact at MTI. For the moment, I don’t want anyone over there to know you’ve called the Bureau, but I still need to know what’s happening. Can you do that for me?”

Her chin sank a little, but her eyes lifted to his with a kind of wondering shyness and pleasure that gave him some inkling of how little she thought of herself. “You mean you think I can help you?”

“Absolutely,” he said firmly. “Not only that, but I don’t think I’ll get very far without your help. Until I get a better idea of who’s who and who makes a good suspect, I can’t risk trusting anyone else at MTI. Will you help?”

“Of course I will.”

Arlen smiled. “Good. The first thing is that when that document turns up tomorrow, and I’m positive it will, you can’t argue too hard with the idea that you mislaid it. I’m not saying you should be thrilled with the possibility, but you should be just as relieved as everyone else when it shows up, and only a little more reluctant to believe that you were responsible.”

Jessica wasn’t happy with that, but she nodded her agreement. “I get the idea.”

“I know it hurts,” Arlen said sympathetically, “but try to look at it from another perspective. This uproar has undoubtedly scared somebody, and if he stays scared, we’ll never get our hands on him. It’s essential that we catch him, so we can stop him, so we can find out how long and how much he’s been compromising us, and who he’s working for.”

He came around the coffee table to stand right beside Jessica, and touched her shoulder lightly with his fingers. “Maybe it’ll help if you think of yourself as an agent working undercover. That’s what you’ll be, you know. In a very real sense.”

Jessica tilted her head, looking dubiously up at him. “Just by pretending to believe I mislaid that document?”

“That’s part of it.” Arlen squatted, resting his elbows on his knees, bringing his face level with Jessica’s. “I also want you to start paying close attention to the people around you. Notice whether any of them seem to be seriously troubled, or disgruntled with MTI. Notice if any of them seem to be living too well, or drinking too much—anything that might indicate they’re not entirely trustworthy.”

That idea didn’t sit well with her, Arlen could tell. Most people didn’t like the idea of spying on their coworkers or friends.

“Jessica, I’m not asking you to spy on people. I’m just asking you to pay attention to your impressions of people. See if anyone’s attitude makes you genuinely uneasy about what they might do. You have to remember what’s at stake here.”

He was right, of course, Jessica thought. They were talking about national security. If she had evidence that would convict a murderer, would she withhold it? Of course not. This was a crime, too, potentially as serious as murder to soldiers who might someday depend on the efficacy of MTI-supplied equipment and software to protect them in the field.

Turning, Jessica looked Arlen right in the eye. “I’ll do it,” she said firmly. “What about you? What will you be doing?”

“Well,” he said, standing up, “I’ll start by calling DIS—Defense Investigative Service—and getting a complete report on the security arrangements at MTI. For example, I imagine the vault you referred to is patrolled by armed guards round the clock.”

“Well, yes, I think so. Guards are necessary for the protection of Top Secret information. That’s why I can’t keep it in my safe.”

“Exactly. DIS can give me a complete rundown. They had to approve all the arrangements to begin with, and I imagine they inspect things pretty thoroughly every few months.”

Jessica nodded. When the DIS inspectors came in they usually managed to spend a few minutes talking to each and every one of the employees who were cleared for access to classified information.

“And tomorrow,” Arlen continued, “I’ll initiate background checks on all the people who have access to your controlled area. Maybe we can find someone who’s in financial trouble, or who’s vulnerable to blackmail. Maybe we can close this out quickly.”

Looking down at her, he shrugged and gave her a crooked, rueful smile. “But don’t hold your breath. I used to work in the Foreign Counterintelligence Division of the Bureau in the Washington area. It can take months to gather enough evidence to prosecute.”

Jessica sighed and looked down at her hands. “So it’ll probably drag on.”

“Probably. But look at the bright side.”

“Is there one?” She gave him a doubtful smile.

“Sure. We get to become acquainted. Really well acquainted. In fact, I guarantee you’ll be sick of the sight of me before this is over.”

Jessica shook her head, laughing. “I can’t imagine that,” she said, the words slipping out before she knew they were coming.

Arlen watched the brilliant color flood her face, saw the dawning of her shocked embarrassment. Her reaction gave more weight to her words than he would otherwise have assigned them. If she hadn’t blushed, he would have thought she was teasing. Because she’d blushed, he knew she wasn’t.

And he was astonished how good that little slip of the tongue made him feel. Not since Lucy’s death had anyone said anything that made him feel good. Angry, maybe. Irritated, yes. But not good. Good feelings seemed to have left his life along with Lucy. And, to be quite honest, he wasn’t sure he wanted them back. Those feelings had a price, and he’d paid it once.

So, knowing she wasn’t teasing, he acted as if she was. “You think you won’t only because you haven’t had to look at me every day for a week or a month,” he said, chuckling and turning away as if he hadn’t seen her blush.

“I’ll let you get some rest now, Jessica,” he continued, heading for the door. “Call me if you have any questions.”

He paused suddenly and turned back, patting his pockets. “I must have my card here somewhere. Although maybe it’s better if you don’t carry it around with you.”

“I can reach you at the FBI office, can’t I?” she asked, her embarrassment fading as he seemed to notice nothing remarkable about her comment. “I don’t really need your card.”

“You can reach me at home, too,” he told her. “And I really don’t mind if you call. The number’s in the book. And if I need to get hold of you, what’s your office number?”

He pulled the pen and pad from his pocket, but Jessica forestalled him with her business card. Arlen’s gray eyes twinkled down at her.

“You’re better prepared than I am,” he confessed. “If something comes up, I’ll call.”

He took his leave almost with a sense of relief. Damn it, Arlen, he thought, the lady’s young enough to be your daughter, and you’re too damn old and wise to get tangled up with her.

And maybe, he thought a few minutes later, she wasn’t as young as she looked. Maybe he was going to start feeling again whether he wanted to or not. Three years was a long time. Maybe even dead feelings came back to life after enough time passed. Maybe, no matter how much you wanted them to stay gone, they just came back anyhow.

Serious Risks

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