Peace and Laundry

6 a.m. came way too soon for Amanda, even though she was usually up by 5. Her alarm was set on what she affectionately thought of as "vacation time" this week. She belted her soft blue robe over her cotton nightgown and wandered out to the kitchen to put coffee on before showering. The two empty mugs and soda spoons left in the sink brought back last night's events. Better go with the Robusto beans today rather than the Arabica, and I might as well brew a full pot. She put the dirty mugs and spoons in the dishwasher, then wiped down the counter and table top before heading to her bathroom. She looked longingly at the comfortable yardwork clothes she'd set out last night before her date, then went to her closet for something more appropriate. Jeans, I think. Comfortable jeans and tennis shoes can handle whatever today might bring. Even...him.

No. She couldn't allow herself to get her hopes up. Well, not too high anyway. Amanda knew all too well that even the most well-worn, form-fitting, comfy jeans couldn't help if that kind of hope crashed again.

As she sat down with her coffee in the sunny breakfast nook half an hour later, she heard the upstairs shower turn on. She had planned to let Francine stay in bed until 8 or so, but figured maybe she hadn't been able to get much sleep. The water turned off a few minutes later. Same old Francine. Still a firm believer in starting the day with an ice-cold shower, apparently. And probably still a big fan of long, hot bubble baths at night.

That long ago conversation had given Amanda a lot of insight into what made Francine tick. Cold professional by day; sultry and luxurious by night. And always getting out before things heated up or cooled down.

Ten minutes later she was downstairs, sleek pastel-blonde hair in a casual French braid, her jeans and white sweater unintentionally matching her host's. She gratefully accepted the steaming cup of coffee Amanda handed her as she put a laptop on the table between them. Rather than sleeping late, she had been awake for over an hour, setting up the new computer she'd purchased -in cash- before leaving the city.

As per her own mandate, her work and personal devices each had at least two Agency tracking programs embedded to enable device recovery or remote destruction of sensitive files if anything happened to her. She could have removed or disabled them, of course, but that might have attracted attention. Best to just leave them home to support her thin sightseeing cover. Besides, she thought an off-network computer would be useful for testing the cybersecurity improvements she was developing. She had been excited to discover a natural aptitude and passion for the work and blazed through a PhD program a few years prior, securing two patents along the way.

Now however, she was mildly frustrated with a simple map search for places that "Peace and Laundry" could refer to. Combined with the Fort Erie, Canada postmark, the card had immediately suggested the Peace Bridge between that city and Buffalo, which was what brought her to Western New York. Remembering that Amanda had moved to the area with her son's family last summer when he accepted an administrative position at the University at Buffalo was a stroke of luck. Unfortunately, she was about twenty miles from the target zone and was not familiar with that area.

There was nothing on the Fort Erie side that looked remotely promising. She didn't think Lee would expect her to smuggle him across the border on short notice, anyway. There were, however, three laundromats within a mile of the border crossing on the U.S. side. None of them happened to be conveniently named "Peace Bridge Laundry". That would be too much to hope for, and far too obvious. There had to be something else. Something that "Peace" could indicate. Something too new to be included in the most recent map updates. Or something too insignificant. Something other than the bridge itself.

The standard two-hour rendezvous window centered on one o'clock, so they needed to figure it out and be in place before noon. They would have to leave soon to give themselves time to find the right venue and do some recon. Fortunately, a laundromat was one of the few public places where you could linger for a few hours without raising suspicion. Amanda decided to take along a large, old comforter to support their presence, figuring it might need a second drying cycle if they had to wait longer, and wouldn't be missed if they had to leave early.

She would never admit it, but for the second time in twelve hours, Francine had to give Amanda's unconventionally conventional background a grudging bit of credit. That has to be some kind of record.

They got lucky with the first location. The Porter Ave Coin Laundry shared a parking lot with an apartment building called Peace Bridge Place. Large fluttering banners announced that it was opening soon and currently accepting rental applications. Perfect.

They drove past the other two laundromats to make sure the obvious choice wasn't the only possibility. Fortunately, there was nothing to suggest either was the designated location. Plus, the Porter Ave location was much less ambush-friendly than the others. While it shared the parking lot with the apartments, a tall white fence between the buildings eliminated all but one second story window as a potential sniper nest, and the roofs of both buildings were visible on the downhill approach on Porter. None of the surrounding buildings were tall enough to offer a clear shot into the lot. Beyond the apartment building was an overpass and the 190 expressway. No potential staging ground there. The roundabout leading to the Peace Bridge and highway occupied the entire block in front of the lot, and the nearest intersection had no sightline into it. Excellent choice for a rendezvous, Francine thought, but perfectly dreadful for an apartment.

Since the card had specified that she come alone, Amanda went inside to wait and wash the comforter while Francine stayed in the car. She'd left her phone in her own vehicle, but Amanda had lent her one. Her son had prohibited the kids from taking their phones on the cruise, and Amanda's was one of the few numbers allowed under the parental control settings. Sitting in a parking lot with a phone was much less conspicuous than sitting there without one. She was secretly delighted to find several kid-friendly games installed. Although she was not a fan of games in general, she recognized their usefulness when she needed to look absorbed while directing most of her attention elsewhere. Perfect.

One o'clock came and went. The comforter went into the dryer. It was just before two when Francine though she glimpsed a familiar profile in the back seat of a late model Honda Civic that slowed as it passed. Standard precaution. Drive by, then double back.

The rise in popularity of ride sharing was both a blessing and a curse in this business. You rarely knew what kind of car you were looking for unless you were told, but neither did anyone looking for you. It was much more difficult to tail anyone with someone else driving, but you were also less visible to them from the back seat, and it was far less cliche than the old "follow that car!" taxi trope. Still, Francine had occasionally found it more expedient to flash her badge and gun and scoot the driver over to the passenger seat. Okay, there was the Honda again, slowing, signaling the turn across traffic into the lot. She unlocked the doors of Amanda's Subaru Outback and sent her a quick text before starting the car.

Her heart leapt as she recognized one of the men getting out of the Civic. His hair was a bit past shoulder length, more snowy now than sandy, and he'd grown a particularly awful beard, but she would know Lee Stetson anywhere. Until she saw his face, she hadn't dared completely believe her best friend of almost thirty-five years was alive. Part of her wanted to tease him about his new look, but mostly she wanted to give him the biggest hug she'd ever given anyone. And cry. And yell at him. And ask so many- Oh! Hello!

She had never met Dr. Oliver Wells in person before but had helped compile the dossier on him when he first came to The Agency's attention a little over two years ago. Brilliant. Advanced degrees in several fields. A list of awards and publications longer than most would accumulate in a lifetime. But the writing between the academic accolades and politely worded lines invariably suggested a personality that left much to be desired. She felt a deliciously unexpected jolt of attraction as he slid into the front seat next to her.

Lee's relief was palpable as he finally collapsed into the back seat. Francine had gotten the message. Remembered the old code. Deciphered it. Trusted it. Shown up. There had been nothing to trigger his suspicions when he'd asked the Uber driver to stop at a convenience store before doubling back to drop them off at the laundromat. Having both been trained in urban reconnaissance by the late, great Billy Melrose, his observations had mirrored Francine's almost exactly. She was alone, hadn't been followed, and hadn't been targeted.

It was then that he noticed the figure leaving the laundromat and walking quickly toward the car, mostly concealed behind a large blue comforter. To his reflexively vigilant mind, there was the strong probability of a gun hidden behind the bedding, pointing directly at one of them. His heart plummeted to the pit of his stomach. Had she been followed after all? Or worse yet- No! He could barely bring himself to even think it!

Had Francine been the mastermind behind the entire set up?

Exhausted as he was from four days of travel, he was out of the car in a flash, rushing to tackle the figure before they had time to adjust their aim.

"Lee!" He heard the alarmed cry just before he slammed his wife's delicate frame across the hood of a parked car.

"Oh my God!" He cut his momentum just in time to avoid seriously injuring her. "Amanda!"

Back in the Subaru, Oliver turned to Francine. "You know, nobody's ever been that excited to see me."