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  “When do we start?” asked Zeke.

  “We’ll work it in between the Border Wall problem,” said Clive, sipping his tea. “It’s a men’s prison, so I’m going to assign Carl to work undercover with you on it.”

  * * *

  Carl Turow was a muscular man with a round face and a brawler’s attitude. He’d worked for The Agency for a couple of years, after leaving the Tactical Section of the FBI’s Critical Incident Response Group. Turow’s solution to a problem was typically violent and immediate.

  “Going inside Cumberland, see what’s going on,” said Turow. “That’s what I’m talkin’ about.”

  Zeke said, “How do we want to do this?”

  Clive was holding the meeting in his library-like office, the three men sitting around a low table, with Kimmy now standing, looking out the window. Outside the cold, silver rain pounded down, splattering the pavement with a noisy clatter.

  “We’ll put Carl on the inside, and you’ll be his connection and his backup,” said Clive to Zeke. “We’ll get you a position in the prison kitchen. A provider. I don’t expect this will take very long, maybe a week. It’s a matter of identifying those involved.”

  “Better if we can catch them in the act,” said Carl.

  “That could be the case,” said Clive.

  “I may have to polish up a couple of brothers,” said Carl. “Find out what’s goin’ down. Something like this, I’d bet most everybody knows about it. But nobody’s talking.”

  “Don’t you want Zeke on the inside, too?” asked Kimmy. “He might be more useful there.”

  “The prison population is right at 95% black,” said Zeke. “I doubt that I’d make much progress with the brothers in a week. They may not trust me.”

  Carl smiled and nodded. “True that.”

  “The mission is to find the killer or killers. And to identify the source of the contraband getting into the prison,” said Zeke. “Do we take action?”

  “Warden says no,” said Clive. “They need our help in identifying, but they feel they have the leverage to close it down.”

  “And they don’t want the inmates to think they couldn’t handle the situation themselves,” said Carl. “They need that for respect.”

  Carl’s bald, black head nodded as if confirming the statement.

  “And Kimmy, you’ll pose as Carl’s girlfriend. See him on visiting days, pass intel and monitor his situation.”

  Carl said, “Can’t wait for my first conjugal visit, then.” He grinned widely.

  Clive tsked quietly and said, “I rather think that it might very well be your last, Carl.”

  Carl looked confused.

  Kimmy looked at her watch and said, “Gotta go. Peterson is supposed to call in a minute from Calexico.”

  * * *

  “I don’t see what good that girl is going to be,” said Carl, after Kimmy had left Clive’s office. “She’s just a little bit. A shorty.” He pronounced it, ‘shawtie’.

  Clive and Zeke exchanged a glance.

  “It does appear so,” said Clive. “But you may be surprised, a wee bit.”

  Carl shook his head. “She’s five foot, what ninety pounds? They’ll eat her for breakfast. The inmates or the guards, whoever gets to her first.”

  Zeke grinned. He said, “Kimmy’s kind of deceptive…”

  “It don’t matter,” Carl interrupted. “Ninety pounds of girl don’t stand a chance against a two-hundred pound man.”

  Zeke shook his head.

  “Kimmy came to us from Mossad,” said Clive. “She was a part of ‘The Tip of the Spear.’”

  Carl looked at Clive with a blank face.

  “Tip of the Spear,” said Zeke. “Have you heard of Kidon, the Israeli assassins in the Mossad? They’re secret and deadly, responsible for the execution of their country’s opponents.”

  “Assassins?” asked Carl. “Was she a secretary or something?”

  Clive said, “Well, it’s all classified, and there’s probably a lot that I don’t know about, but no, she wasn’t in Administration. Suffice it to say that she is deadly.”

  “They only recruit from Israeli Special Forces,” Zeke continued. “I believe Kimmy was in a counter-terrorism unit with mista’arvim before her stint with Kidon. You know, undercover, assassinations, neutralizing terrorists. We’re lucky to have her.”

  Carl whistled softly. “What’s her real name?”

  “Her name is actually Tzofiya, pronounced a bit like Sophia, but spelled with a number of extra letters,” said Clive.

  “What’s her last name?” asked Carl.

  “That’s classified. We just call her ‘Kimmy’.”

  “As for whether she’s deadly,” said Zeke, “have you heard of Krav Maga?”

  “Yeah,” said Carl. “We studied that some in the Critical Incident Response unit. It’s one of the most lethal martial arts. Israeli origin. Has no regard for your opponent’s well being.”

  “Correct,” said Clive. “Not suitable for a sporting contest, in any case. Well, Kimmy’s an expert.”

  Carl looked at Clive, and then at Zeke. He said, “OK, well, I guess we can give her a try.”

  * * *

  “This will do nicely,” Zeke said into the phone. He was talking with the leasing agent for the small cottage he’d decided to rent near the riverfront in downtown Savannah. “It’s just as you said. I’ll take it.”

  The cottage had been recently upgraded, a furnished one bedroom located on a narrow one-way street and with a small garden in the rear. It came furnished on a six-month lease.

  He’d parked his BMW M Series on the street in front of the home and moved his belongings in. It took just two trips.

  The place offered a short walk to the river, and good proximity to Hunter Army Airfield, which could provide Zeke with a quick military ride to D.C. if needed.

  Inside, the small kitchen and bath were well appointed. The bedroom and living area offered enough room to spread out, and the nine-foot ceilings created a feeling of volume. Beadboard wall paneling gave the space a nautical feel.

  Zeke texted Tracy, “I’m in,” along with the street address of the cottage.

  A moment later, he received a text from her. “I’ll be there in about an hour,” it read.

  * * *

  “Hey, I’ve missed you,” Tracy said after she’d arrived and settled into the cottage. She’d thrown her small travel bag on the bed and kissed Zeke. Then she found her way to the overstuffed chair in the living room.

  “I’ve got something for you,” Zeke said.

  “I’ll bet,” said Tracy with a smile.

  He handed her a glass of good Merlot and said, “Great to see you again! I love being with you.”

  “I love you, too, Zeke,” she said. “I’ve missed you.”

  Tracy’s almond shaped green eyes held a level of mischief. Her brown hair was arranged in a casual ponytail. She was dressed in white shorts and a red short sleeved blouse.

  “What kind of trouble have you been getting into in Atlanta?” asked Zeke.

  “Oh, the usual,” she said casually. “Chasing fake money that keeps showing up here and there. We’re getting closer to the source, though.”

  Although Tracy was a Secret Service agent, much of her day to day job dealt with educating local companies about counterfeit currency and financial and bank fraud.

  She sipped her wine leisurely and her eyes twinkled at Zeke.

  “I’m looking forward to a weekend here,” she said. “Nothing to do but spend time with you.”

  Zeke nodded. “Very nice.” He’d set a small speaker in the corner of the living area and was dialing up some Boney James jazz via bluetooth.

  “They say the food down here is good…” Tracy ventured.

  “Who?” asked Zeke. “Who are ‘they’?”

  “Some of my coworkers, mostly. And my new neighbor, Tim.” She said it casually, looking around the room.

  Zeke looked at her. “Tim?”

&nb
sp; “Yeah, he moved into the condos a few weeks ago. Seems like a nice guy.”

  Zeke nodded. “Does he live on your floor?”

  “How did you know that?” Tracy asked with an amazed expression.

  “You remember what Goose’s wife said, don’t you?” asked Zeke, grinning.

  “In the Top Gun movie? As a matter of fact I do,” said Tracy. She set down her wine glass and gave Zeke a sexy look. “Wasn’t it something like, ‘Take me to bed, or lose me forever’…”

  * * *

  “We’re how far from the water?” asked Tracy. She was again lounging in the overstuffed chair in the corner of Zeke’s Savannah living room.

  “About three-quarters of a mile due north,” said Zeke. “Toward the river.”

  “We’ll go for a run later and check it out,” said Tracy, as she pulled back the window blind. She had on a pair of shorts and a loose short-sleeved sweatshirt embossed with SCAD in large red letters. It stood for ‘Savannah College of Arts and Design’ and Zeke had bought it for her. Her dark hair was arranged in a neat bun.

  Outside the cottage was a small porch and a fence, and then the sidewalk and the street. Through the window, Zeke saw a parade of small children walking by.

  “Looks like they’re heading home from school,” he said.

  Dropping the window blind, Tracy said, “Nice place. Very comfortable.”

  In the background, Greg Allman was crooning about being tied to the whipping post.

  “It doesn’t look like you packed a lot,” Zeke commented.

  “You told me not to,” said Tracy, feigning innocence.

  “And you said that you always do what you’re told?” he asked.

  “Almost always,” said Tracy, her eyes wide. She stood up. “Speaking of which, why don’t you show me the bedroom…”

  * * *

  “A general named Oglethorpe settled it originally,” said Zeke. They were back in the living area of the cottage, after their run, sipping mojitos made with Havana Club white rum.

  “He brought 120 people over from England on a ship named ‘Anne’ and they settled here in 1733. It became the thirteenth colony,” said Zeke.

  “I’ll bet you didn’t have much trouble in history class,” joked Tracy. “Your teachers must have loved that memory. So, why did they leave England, then?”

  “The plan was to form a haven for debtors,” said Zeke.

  “What?”

  “For debtors who would otherwise go to jail in England, they could come to the Georgia Colony, instead,” said Zeke. “It was also settled as a buffer, to protect the other colonies from the Spanish and the French.”

  “That’s too much history,” Tracy said, changing the subject. “Are you hungry?”

  “Sure. I stocked the fridge with some local fish, Black Sea Bass, and some shrimp and Brussels sprouts. Come on, we’ll get it started.”

  * * *

  As they cooked, Tracy said, “OK, this is nice, but why Savannah?”

  Zeke said, “What do you mean?”

  “Well, since I met you, you’ve lived on Marie Island in Florida, on Cape Cod, and in Marathon in the Keys. What do all of those locations have in common?”

  “Hmm,” said Zeke. Zeke battered the fish as he talked. Then he dropped some garlic butter in the pan.

  “They all had ocean views,” she said with a wink.

  “Not so much here, eh?” he said.

  “I’m not saying this isn’t a good town. It’s just outside of your normal criteria.”

  “I’ll have to be careful with you,” said Zeke. “You’re way too smart.”

  “And…?”

  “You’re intuitive,” said Zeke. “I like that about you.”

  “Intuitive or ‘in-tune’? With you, I mean.”

  “That, too. OK, I confess, this time I had a second motive for choosing this spot.”

  “For moving here?” asked Tracy. “What was it?”

  “Sally tracked a woman named Julia Connors here to Savannah. She worked for the pawnshop franchisor we investigated, as the Risk Manager. We suspect she ordered the deaths of seven people. And the attempt on Kimmy’s life and mine.”

  “No proof?” asked Tracy.

  “Weak and circumstantial at best,” said Zeke. “The two trigger men are dead now, so we can’t track it that way or leverage them.”

  “Those are the two that you and Kimmy neutralized,” Tracy said to herself. “How did Sally find Julia Conners?”

  “It was pretty simple. Conners used her debit card at a grocery store. And she gave a credit card to a hotel when she first arrived in Savannah. The FBI helped in finding her.”

  “It doesn’t sound like she’s trying to stay under the radar.”

  “No, she knows that we don’t have evidence against her. But she disappeared so she could stay out of the investigation.”

  “And you found her?”

  “Yes. After the credit cards narrowed it down to this area, we were able to track the IMEI on her cell phone. That gave us a more precise location, actually her apartment,” said Zeke.

  “Didn’t she change the SIM card?”

  “Sure, but that doesn’t matter. As long as the phone’s on and connected to a network, it can be tracked.”

  “Now what?” asked Tracy.

  The grilling fish smelled like lemon and butter, and Zeke garnished it with sea salt, pepper and cilantro. He opened the oven and slid out the pan of broiled Brussels sprouts.

  “I’m not sure. She’s seen me and she’s seen Clive. But we’re interested in finding out who she contacts, and what she does next.”

  “You have surveillance on her? In her apartment?”

  “We do. So we watch for a little while, see what develops.”

  Tracy said, “I wish I didn’t have to head back to Atlanta Sunday. But, duty calls.”

  Zeke nodded and said, “Let’s eat. Then we can figure out how to make the best use of this little sliver of time we have left before you go.”

  * * *

  “When I see you, I get kinda crazy,” said Tracy. “Like one of Pavlov’s dogs or something.”

  “You salivate?” asked Zeke.

  Tracy had finished her meal and she set her silverware on her plate.

  “No, silly,” she said. Then, thinking about it she said, “Well, maybe. Something like that.”

  “Oh, good,” said Zeke. “You’re helpless to resist me.”

  Tracy made a face and said, “You already knew that.”

  “And you obey my commands,” joked Zeke.

  “Well, sure, some of them, anyway.”

  “Let’s test that theory,” said Zeke. “How do you feel right now, Mrs. Pavlov?”

  “Hmm. I guess I feel flirty. And in love.”

  “That’s good,” said Zeke. “I think we’re on the same wavelength.” He stood and kissed her lightly.

  Chapter 5

  “Zeke, tell me about your job with the Army, with MICECP,” said Tracy.

  In the six years between 2008 and 2014, Zeke had worked as an Intelligence Operations Specialist in hot spots around the world. His skills with the English, Spanish and Arabic languages allowed him to effectively communicate with people from 52% of the world’s countries in their primary tongue. Many more if you considered second languages.

  And communications is essential in counterintelligence.

  “I was in Gitmo twice,” Zeke said, as they snacked on a small plate of grouper bites with a spicy roulade sauce. They were sitting outside a restaurant on River Street with a view of the river. “I was sent there to interview Abdulla Sayari. They call him the ‘Deadly Genius’. I spent a couple of months going back and forth. It’s a dismal place.”

  “Guantanamo Bay? Really?”

  Zeke nodded.

  “Where was Abdulla from?”

  “Saudi Arabia. I never heard the circumstances of his arrest, but the powers that be were intimidated by him. Apparently he was responsible for a lot of death.”

&
nbsp; “Your work was mostly classified, I expect,” she said.

  Zeke nodded. “It was. I guess it still is. These grouper bites are wonderful.”

  “Without giving away any national secrets, what were you actually doing for the Army?”

  Zeke chewed for a moment. Then he swallowed and said, “Primarily, I was interviewing. I’m trained in kinesics and physiology, or the study of nonverbal communication. In other words, I can usually spot a lie.”

  “Human lie detector?” asked Tracy.

  “Not perfect, but pretty good. It’s a useful tool.”

  “Not so good for dating,” Tracy said under her breath.

  “And my eidetic memory allows me to use a number of regional dialects in each of my three major languages, as well as subtleties and, well let’s say colloquialisms. I can usually put the interviewee at ease with that. As well as understanding the context of some of his answers.”

  “Tell me about kinesics,” said Tracy. “How does that work?”

  “It’s really a study of human behavior and the resulting reactive movements and physiology. Anything from eye movements to changes in breathing to more subtle changes in voice pitch or blink rate, things like that,” he said. “I’ve been doing it so long that it’s almost a habit.”

  “So not only are you communicating when you talk to me, but you’re also monitoring my reactions and cataloging them? Not sure I like that,” Tracy said. “Seems like it’d take away the mystery.”

  “No worries,” said Zeke. “You’re still plenty mysterious.”

  “I wasn’t aware that the Army had such a counterterrorism branch,” said Tracy. “Did you travel much?”

  “We were contractors, not employees. The Army used us, and they also let the other branches of service use us when they had a, well, a situation. And yes, I travelled to some of the bleakest places on earth. We mostly went to the conflict areas.”

  Tracy nodded and popped a grouper bite in her mouth. She thought for a minute as she chewed, then said, “Interviewing terrorists.”