Tea and Secrets-Part Five

1104 Agnew Dr

Sunday, December 28, 2003

3:30 PM

"Here, colonel, take this," Amanda handed him a pill, along with a glass of water. "It's the antidote," she explained. "It should start to take effect in about a half-hour."

The colonel looked down at the small white pill in his palm—if he didn't know any better he'd almost swear it was an aspirin. He swallowed it and drank the water, handing the glass back to Amanda.

"McJohn said that it should last about eight hours," Lee added. "Not that we think you'll need that much time, but it's a comfortable margin."

The colonel nodded. "Better safe than sorry," he replied. The thought of all the time he'd spent drugged and under that woman's control still sent a chill through him. "So everything is set up now, right?"

"Pretty much," Lee said. "Leatherneck's wired the entire downstairs for sound and we've placed cameras here in the living room and in the kitchen—that's where you're most likely to be. We'll be monitoring in the cable van across the street. "

"What about a wire on me?" the colonel asked.

Lee shook his head. "Too risky. You're supposed to be drugged—if she starts to suspect something she could search you and find a wire. The last thing we want is to spook her."

That made sense, the colonel thought. They wanted to put this woman away, after all—along with her organization— and hopefully for a very long time. "What happens after this?"

"We follow her, see who she reports to," Amanda replied. "We need to find out who else is involved in this and exactly what they're doing with the information they gather."

"Yeah, and hopefully we'll find a way to shut this little operation down for good," Lee said. At that moment his cell phone rang—he took it out of his pocket and flipped it open. "Stetson here." A pause—the colonel watched as his nephew's jaw tightened. "Well that's nice, but I'd like you to have your permit first. But can we talk about this later, munchkin? It's not a good time right now." Another pause—Lee ran one hand back through his hair. "Yes, Jenna I promise—we will talk about it later, okay? Now goodbye." With a sigh Lee closed his cell phone.

"Lee, what was that about?" Amanda asked.

"Jenna said that Lisa's dad is letting her practice driving in the mall parking lot before the mall opens," Lee told his wife. "She wants to know if she can do the same thing. I'd said we'd talk about it. I swear, I don't know why she's in such a rush."

"Doesn't seem too strange to me, Skip." the colonel said. "I remember how badly you wanted your license."

"Maybe, but that was different," Lee countered. "For one thing, I was a lot older—"

"We'll talk about it later at home, Lee—all of us together." Amanda looked down at her watch. "For now I think we need to get this show on the road—it's nearly time. She said she'd be here between four and five, right?"

"That's right," the colonel replied. Almost time, he thought—feeling the faint stirrings of apprehension deep in his gut—the same feeling he used to get before testing a new plane or rocket—he breathed in and out slowly, bringing his emotions under control.

This would work—it had to.

"Good luck, sir," Lee told him.

"Yeah," the colonel said. "Good luck to you too."

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"Lee, come on," Amanda said. They sat together in the van, looking at the monitors that displayed what was going on in the colonel's home. "I'm sure you weren't too much older than Jenna when you wanted to drive."

"I know was at least sixteen—or fifteen and a half," Lee replied. "And besides the times were different then—there was less traffic on the roads—" a faint snort came from his wife. "A-man-da, listen— she isn't even fifteen yet. What's the rush?"

"Actually I agree with you there," Amanda told him. "But you have to understand how your daughter feels—oh hold on, the doorbell just rang—it has to be her." They watched the colonel rise from his chair and go to the door.

"Alice, hello," the colonel said. "So nice to see you—here let me take those for you." He took the foil wrapped packages from her. "

"Oh thank, you Robert," Alice replied, her voice betraying a slight lilt—Irish, most likely, Amanda guessed. "It's just Irish chicken and dumplings with roast potatoes—my specialty. The perfect thing for a Sunday meal."

"It sounds delicious," the colonel said.

"Believe me, it is." From this angle they could see Mrs. Murphy in profile—an elderly woman; her long grey hair pulled back in a neat bun at the nape of her neck. She looked nice and sweet, Amanda mused—the last person you'd suspect of espionage—all of which made the cover absolutely perfect. "Tell me, have you ever been to Ireland?"

"Afraid not," the colonel said. "Though I was briefly stationed in the UK in the fifties—at RAF Alconbury."

"Really?" The sudden interest in Mrs. Murphy's voice was obvious. "Perhaps you can tell me about it later—I'd love to hear all about it…"

"Perhaps," the colonel replied. "Now let's get these things into the kitchen so we can eat, huh? I'm starving."

"She's good," Lee voiced Amanda's earlier thoughts. "She's very good."

Amanda nodded in agreement. She wondered how the woman had ended up on this side of the game. A need for money, perhaps? Or was she in it just for the thrill?

"Yes, food first," Mrs. Murphy said. "And after that, we can have some more tea—"

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5:15 PM

"There we go," Mrs. Murphy bent over him, plucking the now-empty cup from the colonel's fingers. "That's good—very good indeed."

Her tone and demeanor had completely changed, the colonel realized; from warm and conversational—as it had been during their meal— to brisk and businesslike. Like Jekyll and Hyde—part of him was beginning to understand how little he actually knew her. He sat in the armchair, head drooping forward, and watched through half-lidded eyes as she removed a small tape recorder from her purse and placed it on the table between them, pushing the record button down.

"Now," she told him. "Last time we talked about base security on the bases that you were recently consulted on. Do you recall that, colonel?"

Base security, the colonel thought—dear God—how much information had he already told her? He fought to remain outwardly calm—the last thing he wanted to do was give himself away. "Yes, I do recall that," he replied.

"Very good," Mrs. Murphy said approvingly. "We had started to talk about Shaw Air Force Base the last time. You told me that you had worked with them a few years ago."

"Stick as close to the truth as you can without giving away anything that's too sensitive." That's what Lee had told him. "Yes," he said. "That's true. I worked with them in 2001."

"What did you do for them?"

"Consulted with them about security following 9-11."

"So you helped to identify the weaknesses in their security?" She leaned forward as she spoke—even with his eyes half-closed he could see the gleam of excitement in her eyes.

"Yes—yes we did."

"And what were those weaknesses, exactly?

This was where he had to be careful. "Too many points of entry," he told Mrs. Murphy. "And too many—too many unauthorized civilians who were coming and going at will." He allowed his voice to falter slightly—no doubt she'd think it was an effect of the drug.

"Who were these civilians?"

"Churchgoers—parents who were taking or picking up their children for school on the base."

"I can see how that would be a problem, yes," Mrs. Murphy said. "And what did you recommend that they do to fix this?"

"I recommended fewer points of entry," the colonel replied. "And everyone coming on base needed to get a pass from the visitor's center before entering."

"Meaning that they would have to show identification?"

He nodded slowly. "Yes—has to be verified—and they could be searched—along with— with the vehicle." Slowly the colonel let his eyes close a bit—his chin rested against his chest. He felt her breath on his face and forced himself to sit completely still.

"Hmm…" Mrs. Murphy murmured. "I really hope I didn't give you too much—it shouldn't have this sort of effect this soon—colonel?" She patted the left side of his face—her voice rising slightly. "Colonel, can you hear me? Robert?"

"Yeah—I can." His head moved upwards. "Hear you, Alice."

"Very good. Now can you tell me how many points of entry there are now?"

"Three." Nothing classified about that—any potential visitor would be able to find that out.

"And you need to prove that you have a legitimate reason to be on the base?"

"Correct—have to be verified."

Silence followed—for a minute or two he thought that maybe she'd given up—then suddenly she spoke. "What about public events held on base?" Mrs. Murphy asked him. "Things like air shows? I understand that Shaw holds such events each summer? Colonel?"

"Yes, they do," the colonel said. "In July."

"And are people and their belongings searched then?"

Another nod. "Small purses and bags—nothing larger allowed—and it's searched."

"How many points of entry?"

"For that event only—only one."

"And are the other points guarded at that time?" she barked. "By how many MPs?"

No more—he couldn't give her anymore about that without compromising—he'd already done quite enough of that. He felt her hand patting his shoulder, his face—he kept his eyes closed. Mrs. Murphy let out a noisy sigh.

"That's it for now, I suppose." There was a click as the recording machine was turned off. Footsteps sounded—was she leaving? The colonel wondered. He didn't dare open his eyes until he was certain she was gone.

"Mrs. Murphy here," she said. "Let me talk to him." A cell phone, he thought—she was calling her headquarters.

"I wanted you to know that I need more time," Mrs. Murphy was saying. "Yes, yes, I know—the thing is, I think the drug you gave me today was too concentrated—he fell asleep too quickly." A pause. "Don't you worry, dearie—next session I'll pump him dry—I know how to handle him."

The words and tone sent a chill through the colonel, filling him with disgust. The thought that he'd trusted her—let her into his life—her lips brushed his cheek and it took every ounce of willpower not to pull his face away.

"See you soon," she told him. He listened to her footsteps; the front door opening and then closing.

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"Okay, here she comes," Amanda said as Mrs. Murphy walked out of the house towards her car.

"Great—let's see where she goes now." Lee put the van into gear and they pulled in behind Mrs. Murphy, making sure to stay a couple of car lengths behind so they wouldn't be spotted, following her as she made a right onto South Glebe and then another right onto Arlington Blvd.

"Looks like she might be heading back towards the Veteran's Aid Society," Amanda told him. "Should we call for backup to meet us there?"

Lee shook his head. "Not yet. We don't know for certain where she's headed yet and the last thing we need to do is spook somebody. I want to bust this ring wide open, Amanda."

"Yeah, I know what you mean," Amanda replied. "The colonel did a good job—I don't think she suspected a thing."

"He did a great job." And it couldn't have been an easy job for him either, he thought to himself. Trust didn't come easily for the Colonel, but he had let himself trust Mrs. Murphy. Some of that had been the effect of the drug, Lee knew—but to have that trust betrayed like that—he remembered the pain he'd felt when he discovered that Eva had been betraying him—Lee couldn't even imagine what his uncle must be feeling right now.

"He'll be all right, you know." Amanda's quiet voice brought him out of his reverie. As they pulled up to a stop light he turned his head to look at her. "I know what you're thinking, Lee—but he's not alone now. We'll help him through this—all of us together."

"We will." Reaching over, Lee took his wife's hand, giving it a brief squeeze. "Together." And hopefully together would be enough—it had to be.

The light changed to green as Mrs. Murphy's car made a left onto North Wilson.

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Veteran's Aid Society

"I told you," Charles Rendell said. "I'll get it to you soon, I promise."

"Soon is not good enough, Mr. Rendell," the heavily-accented voice on the other end of the line replied. "You promised us that information by today."

"Don't tell me what I promised, Faisal—I know damn well what I promised," Rendell's voice rose slightly, his fingers clutching the receiver so hard that his knuckles turned white. "But I'm telling you that these things happen, even with our best operatives."

"And this woman—this Mrs. Murphy," Faisal said. "She is one of your best operatives?"

"No, not just one of the best," Rendell countered. "She is the best—I assure you." Looking out his window he could see the woman's car as it pulled into the parking lot. "I wouldn't have assigned anyone less to the colonel."

"Nice to know you are taking this seriously, Mr. Rendell," the other man told him. "And trust me, we do understand how things can go wrong, even in the best-run organizations. That is why we're giving you until this Tuesday to get the information you need."

"Tuesday?" He repeated. The bell on the door tinkled as Mrs. Murphy entered the front office—Rendell held up his hand for silence as he continued speaking. "I'm afraid that Tuesday could be a little tricky."

Faisal's voice hardened. "Nonetheless, Tuesday is when I expect you to come through," he said. "I trust you know the consequences if you do not. Good day, Mr. Rendell." Before he could say anything else the line went dead.

'Shit—I should've never gotten involved with this,' he thought bitterly, staring at the phone in his hand. If only he'd listened to his instincts that first time in Morocco—he'd been working in conjunction with the US Army on a water purification project near Ouled Tahar when they'd approached him:

"Want to make a little extra money?"

At the time he'd been barely subsisting; thinking of the student loans he still had to pay, the credit debt he'd managed to amass—something in him had known it was wrong but he'd done it anyway—given them just what they wanted.

"Thank you—we won't forget this."

And they definitely hadn't. Two days after that a small jeep on the army base exploded, killing a dozen men and wounding twenty more. Rendell left the Peace Corps soon after that; made it back home and no one had ever known the part he had played.

Except for them, of course. They knew—and from that time onward they had owned him, body and soul.

"Mr. Rendell?" Mrs. Murphy stared down at him. "Are you all right?"

"What? Oh yeah—yeah, I'm fine." Hastily he placed the phone back on its receiver. "Sorry, I guess I zoned out for a moment. So—what do you have for me?"

"The information that I've received so far—that I told you about over the phone." She removed the digital recorder from her pocket and handed it to him.

"Thank you," Rendell took the recorder from her. "And everything went well? No problems?"

"Except for the drug, everything went as planned."

"Yes, of course, the drug. You told me over the phone that you thought what I gave you was too concentrated?"

"It must have been, sir," Mrs. Murphy replied. "He lost consciousness twice as fast as usual."

"Strange." Rendell shook his head. "What I have should be the same concentration, regardless. Still, what you told me makes sense. And you think you can get more out of him?"

Mrs. Murphy smiled thinly. "Like I said, I can pump him dry."

He believed her—in the months since he'd employed her he'd discovered that beneath her motherly exterior lay a core of pure steel. "Very good indeed," Rendell said. "Can you get that to me by Tuesday?" No reply—she stared out the window. "Mrs. Murphy?" he asked sharply. "Is something wrong?"

"No," she said, turning to face him, a bright smile on her face. "Nothing is wrong," she told him. "And I can get that to you by Tuesday."

"Yes, you do that. Lock the door behind you when you leave." Once she had gone he let his head drop into his hands.

'This can't go on forever,' he thought.

Something told him that it would all be ending very soon.

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That van.

As Mrs. Murphy left the building and walked towards her car she cast a quick sidelong glance—she'd seen that van somewhere before, hadn't she? Across the street from the colonel's house—she was almost certain of it. And now it was here—in the parking lot.

But was it the same van? Or merely similar looking? She wasn't sure. Had she been followed here?

Perhaps she was getting paranoid—but as the old saying went, just because you're paranoid, doesn't mean they aren't after you.

The only question was, who exactly were they? Mrs. Murphy opened her car door and slid into the driver's seat. By adjusting her rearview mirror she could see them quite clearly; a man with graying hair and a dark-haired woman. The woman was wearing sunglasses, but something seemed very familiar about her—about both of them. She made it a point never to forget a face—she was almost certain she'd seen them somewhere before.

Time to see what they wanted to do; the longer she dawdled in the car the more suspicious it would seem. Mrs. Murphy started the ignition and put the car into drive, pulling slowly out of the parking lot. A quick glance at her side mirror told her that the van had pulled in behind her, two cars back. Whoever these people were, they were not amateurs. The dark-haired woman was talking to someone now—probably calling for backup.

Cops? No—something told her it was more than that—probably federal agents of some sort. And whoever they were they must have been watching her for quite a while—they'd known she was going to be at the colonel's.

The colonel.

That was it, she thought, as realization washed over her. The reason why they looked so familiar. She recalled the family photo that she'd spotted on the bookcase—the man and the woman—his nephew and his nephew's wife.

Meaning that the colonel had discovered what she was doing—and this time he'd set her up. There had been nothing wrong with the concentration of the drug—he must have taken something—done something that neutralized the effect. It had been an act—a clever little trap designed to snare her. The knowledge caused her heart to beat a little faster; adrenaline raced through her veins.

How long had he known? And what part did his family play in this? Were they feds? And most importantly, how was she going to get out? She had considered this when she'd first gotten into this game, of course—the possible situations that might occur.

Only this wasn't hypothetical –not any more. This was real, and right now she didn't have much time.

'Think Alice, think!' With a shock she realized that she was less than ten minutes from home. For a moment she considered giving them the runaround but decided against it—they might already know where she lived and besides that, she needed to collect a few things if her plan was going to work.

She merged onto Washington Blvd, heading towards the George Washington Memorial Parkway.

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"Apartment 220-D," Amanda read aloud from the text she'd just received from Francine. They sat parked just across the street from the Highland Ridge Apartments. "Apparently it's rented under her deceased husband's name—Harlan Murphy."

"Makes sense," Lee replied. "That's why we couldn't find it before."

"Yeah," Amanda said. "You know, with the money she must be making, I almost expected her to live somewhere a little nicer."

Lee shook his head. "That would make her too conspicuous—the last thing she wants to do is draw attention to herself."

"True—too much money would definitely raise a red flag with the IRS." Amanda looked down at her watch. "Think she's in for the night?"

Lee let out a sigh, running one hand back through his hair. "Well she's been in there over an hour now and she's already reported—Somehow I doubt she has any other assignments." He paused. "Okay— here's what we'll do. We'll get Francine to send some men to watch this place and then you and I can go search the Veteran's Aid offices—see what we can come up with."

Amanda smiled. "Sounds like a plan, Stetson."

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Highland Ridge Apartments

#220-D

7:35 PM

Mrs. Murphy stared down at the piles of cash that lay in the duffel bag. The fruits of her labor, she thought—and during the months that she worked for this organization she'd managed to amass quite a tidy sum. Oh she'd done some spending here and there, of course. A new dress, a nice dinner out—a few little presents for herself when the mood struck. But nothing big or flashy—nothing that would draw attention. One of the first things she'd learned in this business was the importance of blending in—of not being noticed.

This business. Initially she'd only gotten into it for the money—to supplement a fixed income. As time went on however, she'd discovered that she possessed a real talent; and it amused her when she was able to use her skills to surpass the younger operatives. Now the ones who had initially sneered at her now treated her with respect, deference, even.

Part of her was really going to miss that.

Was it worth it though? Living in constant fear of discovery—risking arrest, imprisonment and possibly worse?

Maybe it was best to get out now—to cut her losses and run before she anything else happened. .

With a small sigh she dumped the money into her already packed suitcase.

At that moment Mr. Whiskers wandered into the bedroom, crying loudly—wondering what was going on.

"Come here, love." Mrs. Murphy said. It took some coaxing and some kitty treats, but finally she was able to get the large ginger tom into his carrier. His large golden eyes stared out at her balefully as the metal door clicked shut and he let out another meow.

"I'm sorry—it can't be helped," she told him—though she doubted that he understood. A small baggie containing the truth drug lay on her nightstand—that could come in handy. Picking it up she put it in her pocket.

What else—her eyes fell on the nearby phone. For a moment she entertained the thought of calling Mr. Rendell—warning him of what was coming. No, she thought—he'd find out soon enough—right now she had to think of herself.

Mrs. Murphy peered out through a chink in her blinds and into the darkness below. She couldn't see them, of course, but she could feel it—her instincts told her she was being watched.

'Now or never.' Picking up the suitcase in one hand and the carrier in the other, she walked out of her front door, across the hallway to 220-C. She rang the doorbell—after a few moments the door opened a crack, one eye peering out.

"Yes?" Mrs. Silbert asked.

"Hello, love." Mrs. Murphy put on what she hoped was her most endearing smile. "I wonder if you might be able to help me with a little problem—I could definitely make it worth your while."

A brief silence. "I don't know," the other woman replied uncertainly. "I was just getting ready to go to bed."

"Please—it won't take long," Mrs. Murphy said. "I'll make you a nice cup of tea and then we can talk about it—how does that sound?"

Another pause—finally the door opened.

"Come in."

"Thank you so much," Mrs. Murphy said, her smile widening as she followed the woman into her apartment. "I promise you won't regret it."

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The truth drug had done the trick once more, Mrs. Murphy thought to herself as she made her way down Arlington Boulevard. In a few hours Mrs. Silbert would wake up with a slight headache and no memory of what had occurred—even the teacup had been washed clean—this time she would leave no evidence behind. As for the feds—getting by them had been the easiest part of all. Dressed in Mrs. Silbert's coat and hat and driving her Buick Lesabre had rendered her effectively inconspicuous—they hadn't even given her a second glance as she'd driven past and out of the parking lot. The car would have to be ditched eventually, she knew—at some point it would be reported stolen. But there was plenty of time to do that—in the meantime it was all hers.

"Time for a little traveling music, I think," she murmured. Leaning over, Mrs. Murphy switched on the radio. The sounds of Glenn Miller's 'In the Mood' filled the cabin. Mrs. Silbert definitely had good taste in music. She hummed along as she drove, looking for an interstate exit. She wasn't quite sure of where she wanted to go—only that she wanted to get as far away as possible.

The office.

She could see the familiar building to her left—she slowed down as she passed. In the glow of the well-lit parking lot Mrs. Murphy could see the van—that same van—somehow she'd suspected it would be there. No sign of the man and woman, but they were probably inside, searching the place. All coming down—she'd been smart to follow her instincts and get out before it was too late

It had all been the colonel's doing—Robert Clayton and his family—they'd sprung a trap for her and she'd walked right into it. At the thought Mrs. Murphy's hands clasped the steering wheel; so tightly that her knuckles grew white. How on earth had they figured it out? And which agency did they work for?

The loud honk of a horn startled her from her reverie—she'd been so lost in her thoughts that she'd nearly slowed to a standstill. The truck honked again—looking in her mirror she could see the driver—yelling at her—telling her to move on.

Move on—that's exactly what she had to do. She sped up and away from the intersection, leaving the office—her former life— in the far distance. Time to recoup and think of all that later, she told herself firmly—they might have gotten the organization but they hadn't gotten her—not yet, at any rate. She needed to focus on survival. She pulled up to a stoplight—her own reflection stared back at her in the mirror—eyes calm—her expression confident. Perfect. Her mouth widened in a slow smile.

If Alice Murphy was anything at all, she was definitely a survivor.

TBC