Disclaimer: I don't own the situations or characters portrayed herein. I'm just playing with them for a while.
Chapter Nine: Strike While the Iron is Hot
"Can you believe it?"
Lee looked up as Amanda came in, looking affronted. She was in the process of removing her shoes, which meant that one side of her body stood some three inches taller than the other. "Believe what?" her husband asked, taking a moment to appreciate how lovely her eyes were while flashing with anger.
"It's Bart, after all. He wants me to spy on you! I knew something was wrong with him! Baynes is in on it, too." She wobbled a little, and he went to steady her as she removed the other shoe. "You need to go back to the apartment, by the way ā mutter some things about codes and make them think you think I'm me, and you need to call Baynes to report that you think Mr. What's-his-face is part of the Russian contact list."
"I do think you're you."
"Yes, but Barton-Brown doesn't."
"Right. They believed that Francine was you, then?"
"Why wouldn't they? She didn't go outside so they could only see from a distance and through the curtains, and she had a mask of my face. I knew Adi Birol's idea would come in handy someday."
"Don't remind me," he replied, shuddering. "This is dangerous enough."
"Yes, well. Just make sure you drop that Mr. ā oh, why can't I remember? Tell them that Mr. Cadaver is a Russian plant. That should confuse them."
Lee chuckled and kissed her. "All right," he agreed plaintively. "But I don't like that apartment. It's a bachelor pad and I miss you. I can't sleep right."
She smiled then, her whole face lighting up with that soft look she saved just for him. "You haven't even tried it yet."
"I had a week without you at Fort Detrick," he reminded her. "And all this sneaking around means we don't spend time together. You know something? when we're done with all this, I'm taking you on a cruise where I can have you all to myself, and I'm not telling anyone but the boys where we're going."
She smiled even brighter, somehow, and wrapped her arms around his shoulders affectionately. "Sounds nice."
"I need to go," he said. But it was very hard to be convincing when the words were muffled by a kiss.
An hour later, the phone on Baynes' desk rang. The voice on the other end was that of Lee Stetson. "I think I have something for you," he said. "That man that you had me contact ā Mr. Thompson? I think he's in it with the Russians."
The scoff that came from Leonard Baynes was a triumph of the theater. "Surely not, sir."
"Hear me out," Lee persisted. "I've done some digging, and the information seems to be going through him."
"How do you know?"
"Iā¦I can't tell you that; I don't know if this is a clean line. But I recommend keeping an eye on him."
He hung up feeling strangely victorious. Let them all start wondering how much exactly he knew. It might flush them from hiding quicker.
