*for disclaimers, see prologue*

Treason and Old Lace-Part Four

5751 Wood Meadow Way, Apartment 2D, Centreville, VA

Friday, January 21, 2005

8:30 AM

The ringing of the phone jerked Estelle out of a sound sleep. She sat up in bed, brushing the hair out of her eyes as her hand grabbed for the cordless handset on the nightstand. "Hello?"

"Hello, my dear." Angela Maxwell's voice. "I do hope I haven't woken you."

"No—no, I'm fine," Estelle said quickly. Her eyes fell on the bedside clock—half past eight. Why was she being called at this hour? "What did you need? I hope there's not a problem with my work."

"None at all—you know that you're one of my finest operatives," Mrs. Maxwell replied. "The information you've given me has been very valuable. I just have a few questions to ask you."

This was all beginning to sound very strange. "Sure— ask away."

"Very well. When you've visited the major's home, have you noticed any recent visitors?"

"Visitors?" Estelle repeated. "What sort of visitors?"

"Anyone you haven't seen before—somebody who claims to be a friend or even perhaps a family member? Think back."

"The major has no living family—we've discussed this before," Estelle said. "And the only person who's visited him has been General Morrison and I told you about him."

"And you're certain he's been the only one?"

"Well I'm not around him twenty-four hours a day, but that's it as far as I know." She could hear the defensiveness in her own tone. "Just what is this about?"

A pause. "It's nothing for you to worry about, my dear," Mrs. Maxwell told her. "You will let me know if you do encounter anyone, won't you?"

"Yes—yes of course I will."

"And you're meeting the major today, is that correct?"

This was starting to feel like an interrogation. "That is correct," she replied.

"And you will check for any listening devices or cameras?"

"I always do."

"Very good," Mrs. Maxwell said. "Have a marvelous day, my dear—I look forward to hearing from you very soon. Goodbye."

"Good—" Estelle didn't even manage to get the word out before there was a click, followed by a dial tone. For one moment she entertained the idea of calling back and demanding to know what was going on but decided against it—if there was one thing she'd learned about Angela Maxwell, it was that she disliked being questioned or challenged in any way.

But if this might affect her future—get her in trouble with the authorities—she did not get into this business only to be caught and jailed. At the end of the day she had to look out for herself.

'No point in worrying about it yet,' Estelle told herself firmly, placing the handset back in the charger. 'Not until you know that there's something to be worried about."

Another glance at the clock told her that it was now forty minutes after eight. No point in going back to bed now—time to get up and start her day. She rose from the bed, put on her robe and slippers and padded down the hallway towards the kitchen.

A pit was the kindest way to describe this apartment, she thought, as she put a fresh filter into the coffeemaker, spooned in several spoonfuls of coffee and poured fresh water into the top of the machine. The walls were paper thin and the windows did nothing to keep out the draft—moisture tended to collect in the corners of the window and form spots of mildew—at least she hoped it was only mildew—she cleaned it with bleach regularly. The rhythmic thump of the bass from someone's car speakers caused her windows to rattle—Estelle let out her breath in an exasperated sigh.

'I should move out of this dump—get a nicer place.' She'd been wanting to do that for months, actually, but Mrs. Maxwell had nixed the idea, saying that it might draw unwanted attention.

"Perhaps later," she'd told her. "Once the heat has cooled down somewhat." In Estelle's opinion that day couldn't come soon enough. She caught a glimpse of her reflection in a shiny metal pan—the lines and wrinkles around her eyes—her mouth. It wasn't as if she were getting any younger.

The ringing of the phone brought her back to the present. Not another call-what could she want this time? Estelle picked up the extension in the kitchen.

"Hello?"

"Hey there." The major's voice. "Just thought I'd call—see how everything is going."

"Fine—everything's just fine." The coffeemaker beeped, letting her know it was done. Opening the cupboard she pulled out a mug and two packets of Splenda. "Actually I was just getting ready to call you—to ask if you wanted to get together this afternoon. I know it's not my regular day, but I'd like to spend some time with you."

"Great minds think alike," the major replied. "I'll even make us a special lunch. What do you say—around noon today?"

"Sounds good." Estelle took a sip of her coffee, feeling the warm liquid trickle down her throat. "I'll be there."

SMK SMK SMK SMK

6211 Hidden Canyon Rd, Centreville, VA

1:30 PM

"Here, let me help you with that," Mark said, watching as Estelle placed a stack of dishes in the sink. "You shouldn't have to do that all by yourself."

"Nonsense," Estelle told him. "It's my job, remember? Now you just sit there and I'll rinse these things and make us a nice pot of tea."

"Hey—you're the boss." The major grinned.

"Well it's the least I can do after you made us that lovely lunch." Carefully she rinsed and scrubbed each dish, placing them in the drainer. In a little while she'd put them in the dishwasher. Opening the cabinet she took the teakettle and filled it with cold water, placing it on the stove.

Almost time, she thought. Reaching up, she pulled open the cabinet door to the left of the sink where the cups always were—

"That's funny," she said out loud. "There's only one cup here."

"Really?" Mark frowned. "I could've sworn there were two. Maybe it's behind another cup."

"It's not behind another cup," Estelle replied, surprised at the sharpness she heard in her own voice "It's just not here."

"Maybe I should go look for it—I'm sure it's lying around somewhere—"

"It's okay," Estelle said. "Really—I'll just use another cup. It's no problem." Her hands trembled slightly as she reached for her purse on the counter, unzipping it and retrieving two teabags—one specially marked. She placed one teabag in a cup and one in a small mug. The mug was what she would use.

Nerves—that's what it had to be. That phone call from Mrs. Maxwell had really put her on edge. She concentrated on controlling her breathing—in and out—

"I really have to thank you, you know."

The major's voice startled her. Estelle turned to face him.

"Thank me for what?" she asked.

"For just being here—for everything you do," the major said. "Maybe it sounds silly, but before you came, I was just kind of existing—going through the motions. Now I have a reason to get up in the morning, if you know what I mean."

'Please don't do this—don't say this now,' Estelle could feel a knot beginning to form in her stomach. But despite everything he continued to speak.

"I guess what I want to say, Estelle, is that I'm so glad I found you." Another smile. "And I'm so glad we're friends."

He stared at her, obviously expecting her to say something back. Estelle opened her mouth—

At that moment the teakettle whistled. Saved by the bell—she let out her breath in a quiet sigh of relief.

"I'll just get your tea, shall I?" she said, turning away. "We can discuss this over a nice cup." Estelle could see the confusion in his eyes. "Yes, everything will look better over a nice hot cup of tea."

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A bug.

Estelle crouched on the floor, looking up at the small flat disc that was stuck to the bottom of the table. She'd never actually seen one before, except in pictures, and despite everything Mrs. Maxwell had drilled into her, part of her had never actually expected to find one.

Who could've planted it? General Morrison, perhaps? Or had there been another visitor? That was what she'd been told to look out for, after all. Almost like she'd known that something like this might happen.

Maybe the major himself had planted it. Somehow Estelle didn't find that very likely. After all, he would never have told her how he felt if he'd suspected her of using him.

So who had done this?

'You can't worry about that now," she told herself sternly. "You know what to do next.' Grabbing the bug she walked over to the sink where her now-empty cup sat. She turned on the faucet, filling the cup with water, and dropped the bug into the water. She cast another glance around the kitchen but didn't see anything else. Seated at the kitchen table Mark Sterns groaned softly, reminding her of what she needed to do. Estelle grabbed her pad and pen from her purse and took a seat in the chair next to him.

"Let's begin," she told him. He nodded faintly, drugged eyes looking into her own. "Last time you were telling me about the security arrangements at the place where you were stationed before—Langley, wasn't it?"

"Yeah, that was it—Langley in Newport News."

"Very good, major," Estelle replied. "Can you give me some of those details? I need to know everything possible."

SMK SMK SMK SMK

"Planting the second bug was a good idea," Lee told Amanda. They sat in the surveillance van parked about a block away from the house, earphones on. "She looked for the first one and didn't look too closely for the second."

"Yeah, well don't forget—she's also pressed for time," Amanda said. "The drug only lasts for so long. She could hear the interrogation that was going on—the major's voice, slightly slurred, telling Estelle everything she wanted to know about the security arrangements at Langley. The conversation was being taped—it would be transcribed back at the Agency later on. This was definitely the work of Mrs. Murphy and Karbala—if she hadn't been sure of that before she was absolutely certain now. "By the way, did Jenna seem moody to you last night?"

"Actually yeah, she did seem kind of quiet last night." Quiet was an understatement, Lee thought—Jenna had hardly said a word during dinner, pushing her food around on her plate before announcing she had homework to do and disappearing upstairs. Under normal circumstances he would've confronted her about it, but he'd been so preoccupied with this case that he'd written it off as a teenage mood swing. "You don't think anything's seriously wrong, do you?"

Amanda shook her head. "No, nothing like that—at least I don't think so—but if it keeps up we should have a talk with her. Any word on the lab report yet?"

"They said it's a similar substance to the one used on the colonel," Lee replied. "Mixed with real tea like the last time. Some of the ingredients were a little different, but McJohn said that the effect would be about the same."

"Makes sense—Mrs. Murphy's an independent agent this time—she'd have to come up with her own supplier."

"Local drug dealer, most likely," Lee said. "And this is a pretty specialized drug—not your average street stuff—so they'd have to have some sort of lab to be able to analyze and develop it."

"And what about Estelle?"

"As far as we can tell she's one Estelle Coulton—recently widowed—she used to work for the Veteran's Administration—we got her address from Social Security." Lee opened a folder as he spoke. "From the looks of things there are about a dozen volunteers at the Centreville branch and Francine said that 'Mrs. Maxwell' appears to have some connection with the Richmond branch as well."

A small network, Amanda thought—that way they'd be less likely to attract attention. If Mark Sterns hadn't been connected to the colonel it could've been months before they'd uncovered it—and by then the damage would've been much worse. "Estelle's not the one we want, though."

Lee shook his head. "No, but with any luck she might be able to lead us to Mrs. Murphy and to Faisal—they're the ones we really want."

"With any luck," Amanda echoed. She had a feeling that it might not be quite as simple as that.

"Amanda, believe me." Lee took one of her hands in his. "We'll get them this time—I promise you that."

Amanda squeezed his hand. "I believe you."

Silence on the headset—the conversation had come to a halt. Amanda waited a few more moments before switching off the recorder.

Once Estelle left, they would make their next move.

SMK SMK SMK SMK

She hadn't caught it.

Estelle could barely breathe as she stared down at the disc in her hand—the second disc. It had been there the whole time and she had missed it.

If she hadn't knocked her purse off the counter and bent to pick it up—she might never have known about it.

'They've got me—they heard every word that I said—' Who the shadowy 'they' were hardly seemed to matter at this point. They had her voice on tape, she would be tried and convicted of espionage—sentenced to prison or worse—

It couldn't end—not like this. Her heart thudded loudly in her ears. Estelle drew in deep breaths, fighting to quell the nausea rising in her gut.

Mrs. Maxwell. She'd tell her what happened—explain her mistake. Hopefully she'd be able to help her out of this mess before it was too late.

There had to be some way.

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"Okay, she's leaving," Amanda said. They sat parked across the street from the house now; together they watched as Estelle got into her car and pulled out of the driveway, disappearing down the block. Only then did they leave the van and make their way over to the major's house.

The door was locked—Amanda stood in front of her husband, keeping watch as he picked the lock.

The house was virtually silent—the only noise was the soft sound of the dishwasher in the kitchen. That was where they found the major. He sat in one of the kitchen chairs, his head lolling to one side—clearly unconscious.

"Sir?" Amanda bent over him, patting his face gently. "Major Sterns? You need to wake up—come on." The man groaned softly, his eyes fluttering open.

"Estelle?" His voice sounded thick and slurred—his eyes barely focusing. Lee handed Amanda a glass of water.

"Here you go," Amanda told the major. "Drink just a little—go on." He took a few sips before turning his head away.

"What—" He coughed, noticing Lee and Amanda for the first time. "What's going on here? What're you doing here?"

"You've been drugged," Lee said.

"Drugged?" Amanda could see the confusion on the man's face. "How—how'd it happen?" he shook his head as if trying to clear it. "Can't—can't remember anything. Is Estelle here?"

"No, she's not here," Amanda explained gently. "I can't explain right now, sir—but we need to get to the Agency and have you tested. Now can you walk?"

The major nodded. "I think so, yeah."

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5751 Wood Meadow Way, Apartment 2D, Centreville, VA

4:30 PM

"I came as soon as I could, my dear," Mrs. Maxwell said as she swept into the apartment. "I do hope everything's all right—you sounded a bit upset on the phone."

"Well actually, yes," Estelle told her. "I was very upset—you see, something's happened—I didn't mean for it to happen, but it did and now I just—I don't know what to do about it." She felt tears on her face now—she reached up with a trembling hand to brush them away. "It's all such a mess—"

"Oh, my dear." Mrs. Maxwell crooned. She took a seat on the sofa beside her. "Why don't you just tell me what it is? Get it off your chest—you'll feel ever so better."

This wasn't going to be easy—Estelle drew in a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves. She could feel the woman's pale eyes looking through her. "The major's house—it was bugged. I did—I searched for bugs the way I always do, of course—though this is the first time I've ever found one."

"Go on," Mrs. Maxwell said. "Did you destroy the bug that you found?"

Estelle nodded. "I destroyed that one, yes."

"That one?" Mrs. Maxwell spoke quietly. "You mean, there was another?"

"Yes—a second one, hidden under the countertop—I swear I didn't know—not until after the interrogation. By then it was too late." The woman wasn't looking at her now—she stared straight ahead, silent—her face expressionless. So cold, she thought to herself. "You have to help me—please."

More silence. Estelle could hear the sound of her own ragged breathing—blood rushing through her ears.

"Help," Mrs. Maxwell replied finally. "Yes, I will help you—and I'll tell you what we need to do, Estelle—you need to get away—far away."

"Away? Where would I go?"

"Anywhere. You'll get yourself a new identity, license—everything you need to start a whole new life. I have some friends that will help you out. Now how does that sound to you?"

"Wonderful." Estelle felt more tears—tears of relief this time. "I really have to thank you for this—you don't know how scared I was."

Mrs. Maxwell patted her hand. "Believe me, it's all right." She rose to her feet. "Why don't you just sit here for a moment and collect yourself. I'll make us a nice pot of tea and then we'll begin."

Estelle smiled. "That sounds wonderful." She leaned back on the couch—her eyes closing—she could hear Mrs. Murphy bustling around the kitchen, filling the kettle and putting it on the stove.

A new life—that's just what she needed. Something to get away from it all—to reinvent herself, perhaps. Who was it who had said that a change was as good as a rest? Estelle wasn't sure, but she agreed with the sentiment. This time would be a change for sure—this time she would get a nice place, and damn the expense.

"Here you are."

Estelle opened her eyes to see Mrs. Maxwell with a cup of tea in her hand—she'd been so preoccupied with her thoughts that she hadn't even heard the whistle of the kettle.

"I hope you like Earl Grey," she said. "That's about I have right now."

"I love it." Estelle wrapped her hands around the cup and took a long sip, feeling the warmth seeping into her bones. "Thank you."

"Oh, I really wouldn't thank me—not if I were you."

"If you were—" Estelle stared at her. "What did you do?"

She whispered the last four words—she couldn't speak. It was becoming increasingly harder even to breathe. The woman seemed to tower over her now—Estelle wanted to back away but she didn't have the strength.

"It's a very potent paralytic." Mrs. Maxwell's tone was matter-of-fact. "It paralyzes your limbs and central nervous system within just moments—a humane way to do away with someone who has become a liability. Wouldn't you say that? No." A hand brushed her cheek. "I don't suppose you can, really."

Estelle felt like a beached fish—lying on the sand, gasping for air that wouldn't come—she stared mutely up into those cold eyes—eyes that became red as that color flooded her field of vision. She wanted to scream, but nothing came out.

Merciful blackness rushed in, and Estelle Coulton saw nothing more.

TBC