Читать книгу Serious Risks - Rachel Lee - Страница 7

Arlen arrived at the Bureau offices in the morning to find things in an uproar. One of the agents, Ted Wilson, was cooperating with the Secret Service in a sting operation, and overnight they’d rounded up five major drug dealers who were selling crack and coke for food stamps. The Drug Enforcement Administration had gotten involved somewhere along the way, and as near as Arlen could tell they had U.S. marshals, DEA agents, Secret Service agents and even, unless he was mistaken, a Customs agent, in the hallways and offices of the Bureau. They lacked only a U.S. Attorney, and it wasn’t more than a couple of minutes before one showed up. Carolyn Granger came downstairs with a tape recorder, warning everyone that unless somebody gave her some good reasons to use with the judge, the dealers would be out on bail in a couple of hours.

Arlen paused at Ted Wilson’s office door and leaned in to congratulate the young agent. Wilson, looking tired and rumpled in jeans and an FBI windbreaker, grinned up at him. “Thanks, Chief. It feels pretty good.”

“What’s all the congregation for?”

“Well, they’re painting all the Treasury offices, which means the Secret Service guys and the Customs guys are grabbing any excuse to stay out of there. I think DEA’s just curious.”

“Arlen?” The voice of his secretary, Donna, rose above the din and reached him down the length of the hall.

“Yo!” Twisting his head and leaning backward into the hall, he could just see her.

“It’s someone named Jessica on the phone.”

“Tell her I’ll be there in just a minute.” He looked back at Ted. “We do have some other work to accomplish here today.”

“Sure thing, boss.” Ted’s grin broadened. “I think it’ll calm down pretty quick. These guys were supposed to be at their desks ten minutes ago, anyway.”

It was impossible not to grin back. This was Ted’s first bust, and Arlen had no trouble remembering the exhilaration he’d felt his own first time. Walking down the hall, he edged around similarly jubilant men and escaped into the quiet of his own office.

Three of the lines on his phone were lit, so he buzzed Donna and found out that Jessica was on two.

“Jessica,” he said pleasantly into the phone, swiveling his chair to look up at the gray sky that promised rain before the morning was out. For years he’d worked in an office without a window, and the nicest part of his current assignment, he sometimes thought, was the window, with its view of the sky. “Are you calling from work?”

“Yes, I—”

He interrupted her quickly, but kept his tone casual. “Don’t tell me you’re canceling our lunch date.”

At the other end of the line, Jessica drew a total blank. Lunch date? She didn’t remember making a lunch date with Arlen. “I was just going to—”

“I can change the time if that’ll make it easier for you to meet me,” he said smoothly. “Noon instead of one o’clock? Would that be better?”

“I—I guess.” Flabbergasted, she didn’t know what else to say.

“Good! I’ll pick you up out front at noon, then. I’m sorry I can’t talk, but you know how it is at work. I’m already late for a meeting. See you at noon.”

At her own desk on the other side of town, Jessica listened to the hum of the empty phone line as she looked down into the safe drawer. The document was back, all right, stuffed down beneath the other folders so that it lay on the bottom of the drawer. If Arlen hadn’t predicted it, she would probably be thinking she was losing her mind. There was no way she could have missed it in her search yesterday, and yet she would have wondered anyway.

And for some reason Arlen didn’t want to discuss the matter over the phone while she was at work. At least, that was the only conclusion she could draw from their crazy conversation. But she’d wanted to ask him what to do, because it had occurred to her that the red folder or the pages of the document might have fingerprints on them. If she called security first, they would probably send someone up to check things out and ruin all the prints. If there were any.

Troubled, she closed the safe and sat back in her chair. Well, she could wait until after lunch to tell security she had the document. It would make her look even dippier, but what the heck. There was evidently no way she was going to come out of this looking good.

In the meantime, she had a great deal of work still to accomplish on her design for this new software project.

And someone had been in her safe again last night. The idea sent chills racing up and down her spine. In that safe were highly classified details about the Western world’s electronic countermeasures systems. There were threat estimates and survivability estimates, all of which would be very useful to America’s enemies.

In defense work, there were three main levels of classification. Confidential, the lowest, was given to information that could cause serious damage to national security if it fell into the wrong hands. Secret, the next highest, was given to information that could cause grave damage. Those were the levels in her safe. Quite a serious problem, to have someone rummaging around in those documents.

But what if that someone also had access to the guarded vault downstairs? That was where the Top Secret documents were kept, documents that by definition could cause exceptionally grave damage to national security, or even provoke war. It was downright scary even to think about.

And whoever had the combination to her safe probably did have access to the vault, because that was where copies of the combinations for every safe in the building were kept. Somehow this person must have gotten to that copy. And that meant everything in the building was open to him.

It was not yet nine in the morning, but Jessica found herself rubbing her temples to ease a growing throb. Take some aspirin and forget it, Jess, she told herself. Just focus your mind on work.

“Hey, Jessica.” Bob Harrow stood in her office door, looking his usual seedy self, with his hair standing up wildly and a stain of some kind on the front of his T-shirt. “Did you finish your part of the design yet?” As project director, Bob had the unenviable task of trying to keep the team on track.

“Not yet, Bob. Sorry. Yesterday blew me out of the water.”

Bob looked sympathetic. “You don’t look any too great this morning, kiddo. Don’t beat yourself over the head about it, Jessica. You won’t be the first programmer up here who’s spaced something out and found it two days later. Why do you think they put the digital locks on the door? I keep waiting for them to come up with retina identification equipment so they don’t have to worry about one of us scribbling the door code on our pant leg or something.”

But Jessica’s mind caught on something he said. “You mean other people have mislaid things up here? When did that happen?”

“It happens all the time.” Bob shrugged. “Well, not every day, but it was…oh, maybe a month ago that Jerry couldn’t find some report or other on some NATO test. It turned up under a stack of papers on his desk the next day. If you ask me, the only mistake you made was telling security about it. Those guys are completely useless. Did they find it for you? Nope. They just drove you crazy, and yet they’re perfectly convinced it’ll turn up today or tomorrow under some papers somewhere. And it will, Jessica. Believe me. Quit worrying about it.”

Jessica summoned a smile. “You wouldn’t really write the door code on your jeans leg, would you?”

“Well, I wouldn’t, but it wouldn’t surprise me if Mike or Carl did something stupid like that. I swear, neither one of them can think except in assembly language. Well, don’t let me keep you from working. And, Jessica, if this has still got you upset, don’t worry about the design. We’ve got a little slack and can wait a little longer.”

Alone again, Jessica took two aspirin and forced her attention to her work. Work, she’d discovered a long time ago, was solace.

Arlen pulled his car up under the overhang in front of MTI’s main entrance to wait for Jessica. He left the engine running and the defroster blowing to keep the windows clear. The day had turned unexpectedly cold and miserably wet. He was glad he had an old umbrella in the backseat, because he suspected Jessica had probably misjudged the weather this morning just as he had.

Jessica. He’d been thinking about her a little too often for his own peace of mind. Such a severe little mouse of a woman, he told himself, and then remembered the unusual brilliance of her brown eyes and the soft shell-pink of her full lips. Or the fact that her loosely cut gray slacks and high-necked white blouse had hinted at a figure that was better than average.

Well, better than average if you liked women with some meat on them, Arlen thought wryly. He guessed he did, to judge by his reaction to the lady. It hadn’t been something he’d really thought about before.

He’d dated Lucy all the way through high school, over her family’s ceaseless objections, and married her a week after graduation. Then had come an eighteen-month separation while he went to Desert Storm with the marines. He’d returned from the Middle East with a couple of medals to rejoin his bride and meet his eleven-month-old daughter, Melanie. And nine months after that, Andrew had been born. Two years later, he was out of the marines and in college on the GI Bill, both him and Lucy working to support the kids. The hard times had paid off in a big way when he fulfilled his life’s dream of joining the FBI.

Sighing, he looked back with a kind of nostalgic sadness. How young and invulnerable he and Lucy had been then, both of them sure that the hard times were over. Life had a hell of a way of grinding out the smugness of youth.

Exiting the building through the electronically controlled glass doors, Jessica caught sight of Arlen just moments before he spied her. In that instant she thought he looked sad. Alone. The way she felt inside all too often. Did she look like that to others?

But he smiled as he climbed out of the car and came around to open the door for her. That lopsided smile of his was infectious, she realized as she felt her own lips stretch and lift in response. Today he wore another, darker, gray wool suit, and he once again looked very much like the FBI agents of her imaginings. Very neat, very correct. Very tall and very imposing. Strange, nervous little tickles danced through her stomach.

But Arlen didn’t act like her image of an agent. As she slipped past him to get into the car, he bent without warning and kissed her lightly on the cheek. When she looked up at him in astonishment, he further confounded her by laughing and dropping a kiss on the tip of her nose.

“Climb in, honey. It’s cold out here.” Still smiling, he urged her into the car.

Honey? Surely he couldn’t be one of those awful men who called every woman honey. Awful as that thought was, she was even more astounded to realize that some fugitive part of her wished he really meant it. She couldn’t help thinking that it must be really nice to have someone in your life who called you “honey” and surprised you with kisses.

But a very long time ago Jessica had decided it was wisest to avoid men. The boys in high school had scorned her because she was too poor, too plump, too smart and wore glasses. She was one of the very few girls who didn’t go to her senior prom.

Things like that had hurt, of course, but nothing had prepared her for the anguish she discovered in college. Prince Charming had arrived in her freshman year in the guise of a premed student. To this day Jessica considered herself fortunate to have discovered that he was more interested in having her do his programming assignments than he was in her love, and that wooing her had been just a way of buying her brains.

And to this day she could still writhe with embarrassment when she recalled her own eager stupidity and readiness to believe in magic. Lord, the whole world had turned bright and shining for her in those two short months. She had believed the sun rose and set on Chuck Meyers, had done any and everything he had asked her to, and all because he took her out to a couple of movies and spent his evenings in her dorm room. Making her believe he liked being with her. Teasing her with little kisses and then laughing at her blushes.

Fool that she was, she had thought he was laughing because he thought she was cute. And then he would hand her his math book or his computer science assignments and say, “Hey, Jess, I don’t exactly understand this. Help me, huh?” And she would do his whole damn assignment because he gave her those little kisses and made her feel like a million dollars.

Stupid, stupid sixteen-year-old Jessica. How crushed she had been the day after she finished his final program, the one that had guaranteed him an A for the course. How stupid and crushed and humiliated when she learned that Chuck thought they’d had a fair trade. “You had your fantasy, and I got my A,” he had said bluntly. “What’s the big deal, Jess? It isn’t like I even slept with you.” He hadn’t even had the moral decency to understand what the big deal was. She’d been a fool, all right, and she had plumbed the true meaning of despair. She’d also learned what it meant to be used, and while she might risk the heartbreak, she would never again risk the humiliation and the sense of worthlessness that went with knowing you had been taken advantage of.

Sitting next to Arlen as he pulled out of the MTI parking lot, Jessica realized she wasn’t as immune as she’d believed these past years. For the first time in a very long time she found herself acutely, femininely aware of a man. She found herself noticing the way his thigh muscles flexed as he drove. The easy competence with which his large, lean hands held the wheel. The faint shadow of the morning’s beard growth on his cheeks and chin. The muted scent of a man, just barely noticeable in the closed confines of the car. The things that make men different, and that make them attractive to women.

And she found herself wondering what it would be like to lean over and rest her cheek against the wool that covered his shoulder. What would it be like to have his arm close around her shoulders and hold her? Just hold her. Dear heaven, was it possible to ache just to be held? Startled by a need she had never recognized before, she simply stared at him.

Arlen glanced her way as he eased into the heavy noon-hour traffic and caught her staring at him. Before Jessica’s blush became visible, he’d once again fixed his eyes on the road.

“I guess I owe you a whole pack of apologies, Jessica,” he said. “You probably think I’ve gone off the deep end. But the simple fact is, if somebody notices us together, whether it’s someone who recognizes me or someone who recognizes you, I’ll be a whole lot more comfortable if they assume we have some kind of personal relationship.”

“Why?” And then it dawned on her. Her scalp prickled as she realized that Arlen actually thought someone might be watching her.

“After your report to security yesterday,” he continued, “somebody might be interested in your actions for the next couple of days. It’s better all around if they don’t get wind that you’ve talked to the FBI.”

“Is that why you wouldn’t let me talk on the phone this morning?”

He nodded and glanced at her. “You never know who might be listening. It’s just a precaution. Why did you call?”

“Because you were right. The missing document was back in my safe this morning, tucked at the bottom of the drawer as if it had slipped down. I wanted to ask you how to handle it, because it occurred to me there might be fingerprints on it.”

Arlen steered the car into the parking lot of a popular restaurant. Only when he’d pulled into a slot and switched off the ignition did he speak. Turning a little on the seat, he faced her.

“Well, now,” he said, “that’s a good question. I sure as hell can’t come up there to lift the prints, and you sure as hell can’t bring the document out to me.”

“Are you so sure security wouldn’t be helpful if you talked to them?” Jessica asked. It bothered her that he seemed so determined to circumvent the company’s security.

“I’m sure they’d be real helpful. The problem is, I can’t be sure one of them isn’t involved. When somebody is able to access classified stuff, you have to suspect everybody who can get the necessary combinations. That means your facility security officer and all his people.”

Jessica nodded slowly and looked out at the drizzly day. A soft, small sigh escaped her. “Bob Harrow—he’s my project chief—mentioned this morning that my document isn’t the first one to turn up missing temporarily.”

Beside her, Arlen stiffened. “Really.”

Jessica looked at him. “It shook me. And he mentioned it so casually! Like it’s just the dumb kind of thing you expect a programmer to do—mislay classified documents overnight. I mean, I couldn’t believe it, but I could see Bob’s point, too. They always turn up, there’s always an explanation for how they got to be where they are, and besides, there’s a digital combination lock on the door to the whole section, so the documents are as good as locked in a safe even when they’re left on a desk.”

She looked down at her hands. “Except, of course, that the cleaning people come in during the night, and they shouldn’t be able to get their hands on the material. And security comes through at five for the burn bags, and while they’re cleared to take out the classified trash, they have no need to see anything else. And that’s the whole basis of the protection program, isn’t it? That clearance alone isn’t enough to gain access. A person has to have a verified need to know, as well.”

“You have a better understanding of security than most people,” Arlen remarked. “Most people don’t begin to understand the concept of ‘need to know.’”

“Well, it makes sense to me,” Jessica said. “And I’ll tell you what’s really got me so upset this morning. Someone was in my safe again last night. I don’t know how to change the combination, and I don’t know how I can convince security to change it. So all that information is essentially unprotected. Mine and probably everybody else’s. There’s got to be some way to put a stop to this, Arlen!”

It was refreshing, he found himself thinking, to meet someone these days who actually cared. So many people were cynical, or at least pretended to be.

“Actually, Jess,” he said, “the plug is going to be pulled this afternoon.”

Her bright brown eyes widened behind her glasses, and Arlen spared a moment to wonder just how bad her vision was. “The Defense Investigative Service is going to pull an unannounced inspection at your plant this afternoon. One way or another, they’re going to ensure that information is protected.”

“But how?”

Arlen shrugged. “They’re going in looking for an opportunity, and they won’t quit until they find it. They’ll make your folks change all the combinations. They understand the situation as well as anyone, Jessica. That information won’t go unprotected another night.”

“But you said it’s as important to find out what has been compromised as it is to prevent further compromises. If they change all the combinations, won’t that prevent the spy from doing anything? How will you find him?”

Arlen shook his head. “For a novice, you’re good at thinking these things out, Jessica, but you’re not considering motivation here. This person isn’t stealing these documents because it’s easy. He’s motivated by something. The most common motivation is greed, even though it’s a fact that spies generally don’t make huge sums of money. Still, if someone is motivated to steal defense secrets in order to get money, he’s not likely to stop just because there’s a setback. Same goes with other motivations, from revenge to blackmail. Whatever is driving this character, he’s likely to lie low for a couple of days or weeks, then try to get his hands on the new combinations.”

Jessica’s slow nod indicated her understanding. “And you’ll be ready.”

“Believe it.” He smiled, then utterly deprived her of breath by the simple expedient of reaching out and running the tip of his index finger along her cheek.

In that instant Arlen experienced an overload of sensations. All at once he was aware of the satin texture of Jessica’s skin beneath his finger, of the way her breath caught and held, of her faint feminine fragrance. He saw, too, the way her eyes darkened and her lips parted, just a little, an unconscious betrayal of her reaction to his touch. His own body clenched in response, a sharp, hungry stab of wanting.

Abruptly, he drew his hand back. “I promised you lunch,” he said briskly. “We’d better get inside before your break is over.”

Feeling slightly dazed, Jessica didn’t move until he opened her car door. She wasn’t used to such courtesy, and as often as she’d gone out with men for lunch, this was the first time in her life one actually tucked her arm through his, holding it snugly to his side as he guided her around puddles and held an umbrella over her with gentlemanly concern. Being unaccustomed to it, she wasn’t sure whether she liked it, but it certainly made her feel ladylike.

It also made her aware of two other things: how large he was beside her, and that he was wearing a gun. The first unsettled her, but the second unnerved her, causing her to miss her step. Arlen steadied her immediately, looking down with quick concern.

“Are you all right?”

Feeling foolishly naive—of course an FBI agent wore a gun—she responded tartly to cover her embarrassment. “I’m just not accustomed to rubbing elbows with a gun.”

Gray eyes looked down at her steadily for an interminable moment. When he spoke, his voice was absolutely level. “Does it bother you?”

Jessica had the inexplicable feeling that she was being tested in some way, though she had no idea what kind of response he wanted. She could only tell the truth. “Actually,” she said, and felt her blush rising again, “it caught me by surprise. I wasn’t expecting it, that’s all. And I wish I could learn to stop blushing!”

Arlen looked startled, and then he chuckled, asking, “How old are you, anyway?”

Her color deepened even more. “I’m twenty-six. Are you laughing at me?”

“Not at all.” He shook his head solemnly, but his eyes were dancing. He urged her toward the restaurant door. “Twenty-six? And you’ve been with MTI for six years, you said? You must have graduated from college young.” Twenty-six was no child, he found himself thinking, and then wondered why that relieved him.

“I was a little accelerated,” she admitted, reluctant to discuss this. People, especially men, seemed to be put off when they learned that she’d graduated from high school at sixteen and completed her undergraduate work and her masters by the age of twenty.

“I was your age when I graduated,” Arlen volunteered. He collapsed the umbrella and opened the door for her. “The marines slowed me down.”

The restaurant was less crowded than usual at that hour, probably because the weather had dampened a few appetites. Jessica ordered the crab salad that was her favorite lunch, and Arlen ordered the vegetarian plate.

“I’m not a vegetarian,” he remarked as he handed the menus to the waitress, “but on my job I wind up eating a lot of greasy fast food. Every so often I throw a sop to my conscience.”

Jessica laughed.

“I think,” he said, returning to business, “I’d like to hear from you tonight about the DIS inspection this afternoon.”

“I won’t know much about what’s going on,” Jessica told him. “When they’ve come other times, they spent a couple of minutes asking me whether I have any problems or questions, or whether I’ve had any unusual or suspicious contacts, but that’s the extent of my involvement.”

He nodded and leaned back to allow the waitress to serve them. “But you might pick up on people’s reactions to what’s happening. This is going to be a different inspection from most, Jessica. It’s going to be harder, tougher and longer. This time DIS isn’t going in with the assumption that everything’s on the up-and-up. This time they know something’s seriously wrong, and they’re going to dig for any sign or symptom of it. It’s certainly apt to irritate people, and it should make anyone with a guilty conscience just a little uneasy. People get incautious when they’re worried, and you just might pick up on something.” He shrugged and lifted his fork. “I just want you to be alert and then share your impressions with me. Maybe you’ll get something, maybe you won’t.”

“Well, I can do that much,” Jessica readily promised, and then laughed. “I have to admit, though, when they ask me if I’ve had any suspicious contacts, you’re definitely going to be the picture that pops into my mind.”

Arlen laughed, too. “Just try not to look guilty.”

“Did you bring one of your cards for me today?” Jessica asked. “It doesn’t really matter, but last night I realized that I never knew FBI agents carried business cards. And then I got to wondering what it looks like.”

“Just a regular card. No bells or whistles or anything fancy.” He patted his pockets until he found the one holding his card case. “I don’t know why it is,” he said, “but I can never remember where I keep these damn things. Here you go. But I’d really be a lot happier if you didn’t carry this around with you.”

“I’ll give it right back, then.” She accepted the white card, studying it with an interest she didn’t bother to hide. Embossed in gold with an FBI badge in one corner, it identified Arlen as Special Agent in Charge of the local field office.

“Special Agent in Charge?” she read questioningly.

“We call it SAIC. It means I get to do a lot of extra paperwork and stand on the firing line for a lot of extra flak.”

She handed the card back and smiled at him. “You’re just being modest.”

“I’m never modest. It’s the plain truth. I also get to work twice as many hours as anyone else when we have multiple operations going.”

At that moment his pocket beeper tweeted at him. Looking rueful, he switched it off and spread his hands apologetically. “It also means I can’t enjoy an uninterrupted lunch with a lady. Will you excuse me?”

He crossed the room to the pay phone near the exit, weaving among tables with a grace that could only come from peak physical conditioning. A gun and a pocket pager. Shaking her head ruefully, Jessica lifted a forkful of crabmeat to her mouth. No sane woman would be attracted to a man who wore a gun under his coat on one side and a pager in the pocket on the other side. Neither object promised a tranquil existence, and that kind of excitement was not what she wanted.

But he hinted at other kinds of excitement, too, she found herself thinking wistfully. Excitement of a kind she’d never thought she might experience—and in all honesty still didn’t think she ever would.

With a sigh, she forced her thoughts back to the safer area of espionage. That was Arlen Coulter’s sole interest in her, and she would do well to remember it.

And then, like the proverbial bolt out of the blue, she remembered something that had happened just the week before last. No, maybe it had been a little longer ago than that. Closing her eyes, she tried to remember exactly when it had happened.

“Sorry I was gone so long,” Arlen said, sliding into his chair. And then he noticed her frown of concentration. “Jessica? Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. I just remembered something.” She looked at him, eyes troubled behind her lenses. “I suddenly remembered something that happened a couple of weeks ago. Someone I met. I was just trying to remember exactly when.”

Arlen leaned toward her intently. “You had a suspicious contact?”

“I don’t know. It wasn’t any big deal. It’s just that something didn’t feel right about it, and I was trying to pinpoint it. I don’t know how familiar you are with MTI, but a lot of us graduated from the local university, and many of us still have social and professional contacts there. I keep in touch with a lot of the professors from the computer science and engineering departments, and sometimes I brainstorm with them.”

Arlen nodded encouragingly. “Go on.”

“Well, on one of those visits Professor Kostermeyer in engineering introduced me to a couple of his graduate students. One of them was Chinese.”

“From Taiwan or the People’s Republic?”

“I don’t know. It never occurred to me to wonder.”

Arlen nodded again. “What happened?”

“Nothing, really, but even just thinking about it bothers me. I was in the supermarket two weeks ago, the one near my house.”

He nodded. “I know the one. Corbett’s.”

“Right. An awful long way from the university. And I ran into the Chinese grad student Kostermeyer introduced me to. The thing is, I really didn’t remember him until he reminded me, and then it struck me as really odd that he would remember me well enough to recognize me and call me by name several months later.” She watched him, half hoping he would reassure her somehow, maybe tell her that it wasn’t odd at all.

The back of Arlen’s neck was prickling overtime, a sure sign that this was important. It was an instinct that had never failed him yet. “Well, some people do have really amazing memories for faces and names. They’re also about as rare as ice at the equator. It’s exactly the kind of contact you’re supposed to report to your security officer. This is a classic type of recruitment approach. What exactly happened?”

“Well, he suggested we have lunch together, and I said I was busy. Then he suggested we do it another time, but I managed to keep it vague and left. It was just now, sitting here, that I really started thinking about it.” She shrugged. “Maybe I’m just getting paranoid because of this other stuff?”

“Did he by any chance offer to pick up the tab when he made the suggestion?” Students were usually too tight on money to do more than pick up their own tabs, especially foreign students, who were often living on very restricted stipends. If this fellow had offered to buy lunch, the contact would be even more suspicious.

She looked down, trying to remember exactly how the invitation had been worded. “I’m not sure about that, either. I just wasn’t paying enough attention, Arlen.” She raised eyes that asked for his understanding. “The whole thing seemed more like a slightly uncomfortable nuisance, if you want the truth. I figured he wanted some help getting a job at MTI. And I was vaguely worried that he might be persistent about it.”

“That may be all he wants,” Arlen agreed. “I’ve seen recruitments start out exactly like this, though.” Reaching out, he startled her once again by briefly covering her hand with his. Almost as soon as she registered the dry warmth of his skin, he withdrew his touch.

“Let me tell you a story, Jessica.”

She nodded, pushing her salad aside and giving him her full attention.

“A number of years ago, a university student knocked on his neighbor’s door and complained that the volume of the man’s stereo was disturbing his studying. The neighbor, a Bulgarian student, apologized and promptly turned his stereo down. A few days later, the Bulgarian invited the American over for a drink, and the American accepted to show there were no hard feelings. With me so far?”

Jessica nodded. “Is this true?”

“Absolutely. Anyhow, while he was having a drink with the Bulgarian, the American was introduced to a friend of the Bulgarian’s, a man who was identified as a cultural attaché at the Bulgarian embassy. The attaché talked to the American for a while, ascertained that the student, like most students, could use some extra money, and offered to hire him to do some economic research.”

“I think I can guess the rest,” Jessica said.

Arlen shook his head. “I doubt it. This student happened to see a program about espionage on a local public television station right about that time and, wonder of wonders, he called the local FBI field office. The Bulgarian attaché turned out to be an officer in the KGB, and we successfully ran the American student for two years as a double agent.” Arlen smiled faintly. “The student had a yen to be James Bond. He loved every minute of it. And we got five or six very important arrests out of it, not to mention all the disinformation we passed to the Soviets.”

“So my student might have been making an approach.” Jessica watched him, hoping he would deny it.

“He might have been. The thing a lot of people don’t understand about students from some less-than-friendly nations is that they’re not spies exactly, but they’re expected to report back to their embassies about every person they meet. So say this student reported his brief meeting with you, as he’s reported a hundred others, but this one caught the eye of somebody in intelligence. So he was told to make a further contact with you. If he can manage to become just slightly acquainted with you, then he can introduce someone else to you without arousing your suspicions.”

Jessica nodded unhappily. “Then if it really wasn’t an accidental meeting, I can expect to run into him again sometime.”

“Absolutely. And if you do, I want you to go along with his suggestions.”

Jessica’s eyes widened, and she drew a sharp, disbelieving breath. “You’re kidding! Tell me you’re kidding!” But from the expression on his face she knew he wasn’t. The unease she’d felt over the missing document was nothing compared to the nervous fluttering in her stomach right now. “Arlen, I don’t have the nerves for this!”

“No nerves are required,” he said calmly. “The man asks you to lunch, and you go. He may or may not introduce you to someone else. At each stage, you’re always free to continue or bow out. Nothing commits you for the long haul, Jessica.”

“But—but—” How could she adequately express the terror she felt? “I’d be too scared to do it.”

“There’s nothing to be scared of. Nobody who’s been a double agent for us has ever, ever, been harmed. In fact, a few have found the KGB protects them as carefully from the FBI as we try to protect our double agents from them.”

“We’re not talking about the KGB here, Arlen.”

“It doesn’t matter. I’ll look after you. The whole damn Bureau will look after you. And if the opposition tumbles to the fact that you’re a double agent, all they’ll do is skedaddle so fast your head’ll spin. They would have absolutely nothing to gain by harming you, and everything to lose.”

Jessica shook her head, frantically trying to find an objection that would convince him.

“Look.” Reaching out, he caught one of her hands in each of his and stilled their nervous motions. “Just think about it, Jessica. You don’t have to answer right now. Just think about it and how important it is.”

He saw the fear in her bright brown eyes and felt guilty for what he was doing. He was positive she wouldn’t be hurt in any way, or he wouldn’t be suggesting it. It was important that she do this, damn it, but not important enough to put her life at risk. The problem was, people’s heads were full of Hollywood notions of espionage, notions that had little to do with reality, particularly the reality of domestic espionage. In fact, Hollywood aside, foreign intelligence operations had more to lose than they could ever gain if they even once harmed an American citizen who was working for either them or the FBI.

Her fingers felt so small and fragile within the confines of his large hands, and her skin was so smooth and satiny. Her wrists were small and delicate, certainly less than half the size of his. She would be small and soft and satiny, hot and tight and—

He abruptly released her hands, schooling his thoughts to less inflammatory paths. What a damnable time for his libido to resurrect itself!

“Just think about it,” he said, relieved to find he sounded natural. “I promise I won’t pressure you.”

That was fair, Jessica thought with relief. She understood the importance of what he’d asked her to do, but she seriously doubted she had steady enough nerves for anything of the sort. In many ways, she was simply a mouse. Still, she thought wistfully, she might almost consider it—if he would hold her hands again. She had known so little caring physical contact in her life.

“I’d better be getting you back,” Arlen said, signaling the waitress. “I’ll come by this evening, unless that will interfere with your plans.”

“To ask me about what happens this afternoon?”

He nodded and gave her a reassuring smile. “And that’s all, I promise. Unless you want to talk about something more.”

“All right.” She tried to look indifferent. “I’ll just be trying to straighten up the place. Someday I hope to have all those boxes emptied.”

When they were driving back toward MTI through the steady rain, Jessica thought to ask, “What do you want me to do about that document?”

Arlen braked for a stoplight and rubbed his chin before glancing at her. “Leave it undiscovered until tomorrow,” he said after a moment. “Tonight I’ll give you a crash course in how to lift a fingerprint. I’m willing to bet, though, that the prints will be wiped off. Anyone with half a brain would have thought of that once the hue and cry was raised over that document.”

“But if I find one?”

“It may be yours. Whatever you find, you can bring it out to me tomorrow. Why don’t I meet you for lunch again?”

Jessica looked sideways at him. “Is your expense account up to this?”

He chuckled. “When it starts complaining, I’ll let you know.”

When he pulled up before MTI’s main entrance, he set the car in Park and turned to her. “Take care, Jess,” he said and bent forward, giving her the lightest, gentlest kiss on her lips. “See you tonight,” he added in a husky murmur.

It was all for show, but it didn’t feel like playacting, not to Jessica. Her heart stopped in her throat, and electric sparks shot out from that brief, light caress, dazing her.

Somehow she climbed out of the car. It was only as she was stepping into the lobby that she realized someone had been watching. Bob Harrow, her project chief, stood just inside the doors, grinning like the Cheshire cat.

“Something wrong, Bob?” she asked him, feeling annoyed that he’d seen the gesture. That in fact he’d probably precipitated it.

“Not a thing,” he said, suddenly all innocence. “Not a thing, Jessica.” But there was a knowing glint in his eye as he rode the elevator upstairs with her.