Chapter 3

Waves of memory crashed over Lee as he stared at Dirk Fredericks. He was vaguely aware that the man was waiting for an answer, but his mind refused to form a coherent response. He was absolutely certain, whether he attempted to affirm or deny his feelings for Amanda, he would erupt in a cataclysm of anger and frustration.

Falling back on a technique he had learned years previously in counter-interrogation training, Lee shifted his attention to a spot over his tormentor's left shoulder, and he tried to block out everything within his field of vision except the nondescript wall clock hanging there. By the sheer power of conscious will, he forced himself to breathe slowly and evenly until his heartbeat matched the rhythmic pulse of the timepiece's second hand. So successful was his self-imposed trance that he barely noticed when Fredericks began to pace.

"Rather than assume that you are being intentionally obtuse, Scarecrow," Fredericks finally said with an exaggerated sigh, "I will try to be more precise. In her position as a civilian aide, Amanda King looked up to you, didn't she?"

As he allowed the room to slowly come back into focus, Lee struggled to keep his voice level and his words ambiguous. "I suppose so."

"You suppose so?" Fredericks raised a sarcastic eyebrow as he paused to contemplate Lee. "How could there be any doubt in your mind? Amanda King was an ordinary housewife, leading a humdrum suburban existence in Arlington before she met you. And you were the Great Scarecrow . . . a seasoned agent, a debonair man of the world, a man who not only provided her with her first taste of glamour and intrigue but who also saved her life on more than one occasion. How could she not look up to you?" Fredericks halted again. Placing both hands on the defense table, he leaned forward until his face was only inches from Lee's. "But as she gained confidence and experience, things changed, didn't they? Mrs. King began to feel more like an equal than a subordinate --"

"Objection!" Billy cut in sharply, drowning out the remainder of Fredericks' statement. "You're making presumptions as to the feelings of a person who isn't here to confirm or deny your opinion. "

Fredericks shot a disgusted glance at the Field Section Chief before straightening. "Fine," he said, smiling smugly as though convinced he had already made his point, "Ms. Black can strike my last sentence from the record. I am merely trying to establish how Stetson felt about Mrs. King's advancement in status and responsibility level. Perhaps he could tell us that."

Lee closed his eyes for a moment. Bringing both hands to his forehead, he rubbed his temples vigorously before answering with succinct and deliberate calm. "Amanda works . . . worked hard, and she had special qualities that made her a valuable asset to the Agency. Resourcefulness . . . loyalty . . . and a unique way of looking at cases that enabled her to see clues everyone else overlooked. She deserved any recognition she got."

Fredericks appeared unimpressed by the speech Lee had so carefully rehearsed after his boss forewarned him of this probable line of questioning. "Come, come, Scarecrow. Your little protégé was slowly building her own reputation at the Agency. Are you telling the panel that you weren't even the slightest bit jealous?"

'You sound like a jealous person.' Amanda's words from a long-ago case echoed in Lee's brain. As fleeting images of James Delano, Alan Chamberlain, and Joe King invaded his mind, he wondered bitterly whether Fredericks knew how close to the truth he had struck. In the other man's eyes, however, the question must have been rhetorical, because he shot another question at Lee almost without pausing for breath.

"You felt the need to keep Amanda King in her place, to prove that you were the superior agent, didn't you?"

"No!" Here, at least, Lee felt he was on safe ground. While there might have been a time, in the distant past, when that accusation would have rung true, he knew without question that his wife was superior in every way that truly mattered.

"No?" Fredericks tilted his head to one side as a malicious smile over spread his features. "So you never attempted to prevent her from handling cases on her own?"

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Lee stood rigidly while Billy Melrose passed a small, black box in a sweeping motion across his torso and down his arms and legs. Despite his reassurances to Amanda just a few minutes previously, he had been worried that this meeting signaled the revelation of their clandestine marriage and possibly the end of their Agency careers. And while he was more certain now, due to Billy's careful inspection of the premises and its four occupants, that their personal lives weren't on the agenda this morning, the extraordinary security measures were setting his professional instincts on full alert. A briefing outside the stolid facade of I.F.F. usually meant one of two things: a case so controversial that the Agency Director wouldn't admit to official involvement . . . or a mole.

Billy slipped the debugging device into his jacket pocket before turning to face the dour figure of his immediate superior. "Everything's clean," he stated with a curt nod. "From now on," he added, looking to Lee and Amanda in turn, "we use full zephyr-level security measures."

"Zephyr-level?" An involuntary whistle escaped Lee. If there had been any doubt remaining in his mind as to the purpose of this meeting, it would have dissipated as he studied the grim faces of the other two men. This was going to be an assignment. Probably deep undercover . . . and unquestionably critical. But even as his inner agent snapped to almost mechanical attention, his inner man was assailed by conflicting feelings. As much as he would have hated the threat of being separated from his wife by an information lockout, he was equally uncomfortable with the idea of her being involved, however peripherally, in a high risk mission so soon after her recovery from the injury she had sustained on their California honeymoon.

In characteristic style, Austin Smyth didn't waste time with pleasantries, merely directing an emotionless smile and a calculating stare at the top agent. "Zephyr-level, Scarecrow," he affirmed in his usual caustic tone, "and an ill wind that may well magnify to tornado proportions before you and Mrs. King find your way home again." Eyes narrowing, his mood changed suddenly from cryptic to businesslike. "I'll get straight to the point, kiddies," he said, lowering himself stiffly into the room's only chair and steepling his fingers before him. "You're all familiar with the Strategic Defense Initiative?"

Lee saw Amanda's gaze flicker toward him, and he knew, from the telltale smile tugging at the corners of her soft, red lips, that she was thinking the same thing he was. It was during their investigation, just over a year ago, into Tony Martinet's involvement with Maria Von Klausen, Director of Laser Research for the S.D.I., that they had finally given in to their burgeoning feelings for each other. They had commemorated the successful conclusion of that case by sharing their first real kiss.

It was only with difficulty that Lee dragged his mind from that pleasant memory back to the present. "The first phase of the S.D.I. laser research project," Smyth was saying, "was completed two months ago. Since we know that the Russians haven't wavered in their determination to share Dr. Von Klausen's expertise in laser technology, the S.D.I. specifications have been placed in Agency files for protection. In less than two weeks, the President will be attending the Intercontinental Missile Defense Symposium. He is counting on using Dr. Von Klausen's research as leverage to encourage several of our less enthusiastic allies to throw their support behind our position on cooperative missile defense systems." Smyth paused to ignite yet another cigarette and then replaced the gold-plated lighter in one of his inner jacket pockets. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply before continuing. "It would take a great deal of the wind from the President's sails if the S.D.I. specifications fell into the wrong hands before the symposium."

Lee folded his arms across his chest as he cast an impatient look from Smyth to Billy and back. Despite Smyth's annoying predilection for euphemisms and clichés, the implications of his speech were abundantly clear. "Then I assume we've clamped a tight lid on them."

Smyth looked significantly at his Field Section Chief, and Lee was certain that some unspoken communication passed between the two men.

"The specifications have been split into three separate computer files in a C.C.S.P.," Billy said briskly. "None of the files can be accessed without the password and a delta eighteen security clearance."

Lee glanced again at Amanda; if he hadn't been so tense, he would have smiled at her look of intense concentration. "C.C.S.P. means a crisscross security pattern," he stated for her benefit. "The computer program printouts can be converted into transparencies, which would have be layered in the correct alignment to read the full specifications."

Amanda's brow furrowed as she processed this new information and worked through to the most logical conclusion. "Everything sounds secure to me, sir, but obviously there's still a problem."

"Very astute," interjected Smyth, waving a long finger in her direction. "One point for the lady. Actually, we have reason to suspect that two of the three computer programs have been copied and removed from the Agency."

So bland was the Agency Director's tone that, for a moment, the meaning of his words didn't register. When they finally did, Lee was rendered almost speechless from surprise. The theft of a delta eighteen file could only be executed by someone in the uppermost reaches of the Agency hierarchy. And even Smyth couldn't accomplish it without leaving a trail a mile wide; access to such a high level file was too easy to trace. "Do we have any idea as to how the information is being moved?" he asked, more to give himself time to think than because he expected a positive reply.

Billy's answer, however, was immediate and blunt. "It appears that the physical transmission is being done by members of our trainee pool."

"Now, wait a minute!" Lee exploded, his initial suspicion fueled by the knowledge that Amanda had neither the experience nor the security clearance to be involved in a zephyr-level case. "If you're implying that Amanda might be involved --"

Smyth raised a haughty brow, but Billy stared his agent into silence with one warning look. "Calm down, Scarecrow. No one is accusing Amanda. Even if we suspected her loyalty, which we don't, there is only one way a trainee could gain access to those files. Someone else would have to provide the correct password *and* authorize a temporary increase in security clearance."

"Then I don't understand why you suspect one of the trainees, sir," Amanda interjected reasonably.

"I didn't say we suspected one of the trainees, Amanda," Billy explained, his voice kind but his expression grave. "We believe that members of our trainee pool have been tricked into acting as couriers." Pausing for a moment, he appeared to be choosing his words carefully. "You knew a trainee agent by the name of John Franks?"

"Yes, sir," Amanda replied, twisting the delicate chain of her necklace as she often did when distressed. "John and I were in several classes together, but he was killed in a traffic accident two months ago. Beaman said that his death was investigated by a field task force, but no Agency link was found."

Billy thrust both hands into his trouser pockets, and he took several short steps across the worn carpet. "That's the official story. What very few people know is that Franks was alive when he was pulled from the wreckage of his car, and he was able to say a few words to the paramedics before he died." Billy paced back to his original position before continuing. "Dan Russert was the agent in charge of the task force, and he interviewed the paramedics personally. When he heard Franks' final words, he came straight to me, and I threw a blanket over the investigation."

"And I take it Franks' final words were somehow connected to the S.D.I. laser research project," Lee said quietly.

"Franks' statement included the security clearance code and password for one of the S.D.I. files. It took some digging, but a thorough screen of computer activity that day showed someone had accessed that file."

"Did he admit to stealing the information?" From the sparkle in his wife's dark brown eyes, Lee knew that she was ready to jump to Franks' defense.

"No." Billy shook his head thoughtfully. "Franks apparently believed he was on a training assignment. He mentioned his 'Covers and Contacts' course and zulu blue. At the time, we weren't even sure whether he was supposed to be killed or if something went wrong with the transfer--"

"So he could have recognized his contact?" Lee cut in.

Billy spread his hands in a gesture of frustration. "It's possible, but he didn't say."

"Since the unfortunate incident with agent Franks," Smyth said, "I have been running my own surveillance on zulu level computer transmissions. Last month, I detected a suspicious transmission to another agent trainee --"

"Brian Peterson," whispered Amanda, some of the color draining from her cheeks.

"Your protégé catches on quickly." Smyth glanced from Amanda to Lee and back. "Brian Peterson. We immediately suspected a link to Franks and the S.D.I. files. Peterson was put under 24 hour surveillance, but he managed to slip away from the team tailing him."

Lee stared at the Agency Director as he realized what the older man was saying. "You didn't warn him," he spat out in disbelief.

Smyth waved an arm dismissively. "Doing so might have tipped whoever was trying to steal the laser plans."

"Doing so might have saved a man's life!" Lee barked, outraged -- not for the first time -- by his superior's callous disregard for the welfare of his employees.

The Agency Director shrugged, as though a life or death decision were of no more significance than the choice of which necktie would best adorn his designer label suit. "It was a calculated risk -- one which, unfortunately, failed. Which gives us," he added, pausing only long enough to crush the remainder of his cigarette into the cheap ashtray on a small table by his right elbow, "one last opportunity to plug this leak and, believe me, I intend to plug it. If I allow the laser research plans to be stolen from under the very noses of the Agency's finest, I will be a laughing stock, and my standing will sink considerably on Capital Hill -- something I have no intention of allowing to happen. Therefore, Billy and I have devised a little counterattack."

"And how do Amanda and I fit into this plan of yours?" Lee ground out, his temper barely under control. Nothing, however, would have prepared him for Smyth's next words.

"We have determined that Mrs. King is the best candidate for this phase of the operation."

A feeling of dread filled Lee at the idea that Smyth planned to place Amanda into the same position as the two trainees who had been killed. In contrast, and without even seeing her expression, Lee could tell that his wife was pleased. She stood perceptibly taller and straightened her shoulders before speaking. "Thank you, sir."

Smyth's eyes traveled casually up and down her slender form. "No thanks necessary, King," he drawled, his tone as dry as sandpaper. "Without the third computer file, the first two are worthless. And in order to have a plan in place to stop the theft of the final file, it was imperative to know who would be selected as courier. Your injury status created the perfect opportunity for us to force the hand of the person making that selection."

Smyth pulled a gold pocket watch from inside his jacket and flicked it open. As though he were addressing that inanimate object, rather than members of his elite field team, he continued. "At the time of your physical in mid-May, Dr. Kelford approved your return to full duty. However, he left a restriction on your file against the most strenuous levels of physical activity. As of seven o'clock this morning," he closed the watch with a snap, "the remainder of the agent candidates have been ordered to report to Station Twelve for advanced survival training. Since the other trainees will be away for the entire week, and you will be here on regular field rotation, you are the only available courier. And the transfer must take place this week, before the final plans are sent to President's National Security advisors and the C.C.S.P. ends."

The implications of this tactic further infuriated Lee. They were going to force someone's hand . . . push a desperate man against a wall and wait for him to strike back. "It's too obvious," he growled. "Ten to one he'll know it's a trap."

"Which is one reason we're telling both you and Amanda about this," Billy said firmly. "We don't want a repeat of the Peterson incident; we'll be better prepared this time."

It was suddenly clear to Lee that Billy was doing his best to protect Amanda. From his Section Chief's subdued demeanor as Smyth had spoken about Brian Peterson, Lee had received the clear impression that he had argued Peterson's right to be told the truth and that he regretted being overruled on the issue. Lee also felt the clear conviction that it had been Billy, not Smyth, who had demanded this morning's disclosures.

As anger and dread spiraled toward panic, Lee met his wife's determined eyes and knew it was futile to argue further. It was three against one. Despite the risk, Amanda had no intention of refusing the assignment.