Excerpt of Operation Sheba by Misty Evans

Julia’s mind raced, trying to make sense of everything. A part of her wanted to throw herself into Con’s arms, tuck herself into his body for comfort, for the consoling protection only he could provide. But it had been too long since she’d found comfort in his arms. So much had happened in the last year, the last twelve hours even, that she felt out of sync, her mind and heart struggling to catch up. After squeezing his hands lightly, she pulled hers out of them, stood and walked away from him, trying to sort out the tangled logic. Love for him making the impossible choices he had made competed with the anger she felt over his arrogant manner of manipulation. Exasperated, her voice came out stronger now. “I understand what you did and why you did it, but I still don’t like it. In fact, I hate it.”

Conrad huffed out a sigh, but nodded once in acknowledgment.

Moving to the doorway, she leaned on the frame, ran a hand over her face. “Germany. Now I finally understand why you were always running off to that hellhole. God, I hated that country. Do you know how many nights I laid awake in our bed in Paris wondering what you were doing? I imagined you sleeping with a beautiful young fräulein or, worse, lying dead in an alley somewhere.”

Conrad still said nothing, but his eyes were sad, watchful.

“Then came the bomb,” Julia went on. “Synchronized watches and an explosion that happened two minutes sooner than planned.” She shook her head. “Me, sitting helplessly inside the car, my body in shock, my mind totally unsure of what had happened. I prayed that night, Conrad. I prayed you’d come running around the corner any second and I could breathe again.” She took a deep breath and blinked back tears. “But I knew, deep in my gut, you were never coming back. And it was my fault. I built that bomb and it went off early.” She steeled her attention on him. “I thought I killed you.”

Julia could see him visibly struggling with shame and guilt. His gaze went down to the floor, came back up to hers. Was it a silent plea for forgiveness she saw in them or only weariness? Before he could speak, she cut him off. “Only, my bomb didn’t kill you, just my life with you.” She wiped an errant tear off her cheek. “I want to be angry with you and this wicked deception you pulled on me, but all I can feel is sadness and regret lodged right here.” She tapped her chest with a fist. “You sacrificed your career and your life to save me, so it’s hard to feel self-righteous after that, but your betrayal has still broken my heart all over again.”

Conrad moved for her then and she held out a hand to keep him back, but it didn’t work. As soon as he grabbed her, the fight in her dissolved. She stiffened only slightly as his arms went around her and his grip tightened. He kissed her forehead and stroked her hair. Tears fell from her eyes and soaked into his shirt.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

If she tilted her head up, she could kiss him. For a moment, Julia actually considered it. The kiss they’d shared that morning in Michael’s bed had been surreal, weird, almost frightening. The kiss earlier in the evening in her bedroom had been shy and left her with a miserable ache of need. Miserable but desirable at the same time…she wanted to feel his lips again, wanted to suck the heat from his body and the tongue out of his mouth…and…

In the background, Smitty cleared his throat. Loudly. Julia moved back and drew in a ragged breath. Conrad looked down at her, his eyes grave and watchful again. And maybe a little heated, but now was so not the time to be thinking about kissing Conrad.

Smitty shuffled papers on the coffee table and tried to look like he hadn’t been watching them. Julia stepped away from Conrad and set her focus on Smitty instead. It was easier to control her emotions if she wasn’t looking at Con. It was easier to think. And she definitely needed to think.

“So, Michael was right when he told me Con’s death was not my fault.” She was pleased at the matter-of-factness in her voice as she spoke to Smitty. “But he was wrong about me being safe. Someone, possibly an intricately woven group within the Agency, sold me and four other case officers out. I survived, but that doesn’t mean I’m not still a target. Why? Why would someone give five case officers up to a sure death sentence?”

“Power, money, vengeance.” Smitty shrugged. His neck was slightly pink and he kept his gaze on a paper he was holding. “There are endless motivations, but we think power is the key here.” He chanced a glance at her.

“Not money? They usually go hand-in-hand.”

Smitty shook his head. “My money tracers have found no significant exchanges of money by the key players. No red flags in offshore accounts.”

Conrad crossed to the futon. “Everything we’ve found, all the evidence we’ve gathered supports an eloquent power play, orchestrated by someone deep inside the Agency.”

Power. A freaking power-grabber had done all this damage. Sudden anger flared in the pit of Julia’s stomach. She wasn’t good at playing the casual victim, had already done her time in that role. Ditto for turning the other cheek.

Her anger morphed into steel-edged resolve. “How do you know there’s more than one person involved?”

Both Conrad and Smitty looked at her, measured hope in their eyes.

Smitty pointed to the computer. “We have evidence showing the S&T and INTEL directorates have been involved along with Operations. It’s minimal but there.” Science and Technology and Intelligence were the other two main directorates of the CIA.

“How did you obtain that information?”

Smitty glanced at Con and back to her. “I was running the European operations long before I officially received the title. Since I knew what to look for, I kept a close watch on all the agents and operatives, and used all of my assets in the field to figure out how far this operation went. I uncovered a cache of info from several reliable sources outside of the Agency.”

Conrad cleared his throat. “And some of it came from a source on the inside who’s been helping us.”

She drilled him a look. “You already have someone inside Langley helping you?” She knew the answer to her next question, but she asked it anyway. “Then why do you need me?”

Her ex-partner’s gaze was back on the coffee table. “Because you’re the one sleeping with Michael Stone.”

Silence hung between the three friends with crushing weight. So now she had the truth. Julia swallowed the lump tightening her throat and persisted. “Who’s your source on the inside?”

Smitty smiled at her as if reasoning with an irritable toddler. “Julia, you’ll be more effective to us if that person remains anonymous to you. Think about it. If you’d known about our operation, known that Con was alive, you wouldn’t have penetrated the Agency as well as you have.”

Penetrated the Agency. Julia stared at a spot on the far wall. What a polite way to say shagging the boss. She crossed her arms over her chest and put a hand over her mouth. There she was not a minute ago thinking about kissing Conrad and completely forgetting about Michael. What was wrong with her?

It was getting harder and harder to keep things straight. Once again, she reached for the safety of logic. “Why not take the information you have and give it to the DCI?”

Titus Xavier Allen had been the charismatic Director of Central Intelligence for a brief five years. A former spy once in love with the clandestine side of the CIA, he was now the sixty-five-year-old DCI in love with the Hollywood side of government. Tailored suits, dinner parties and vacations in the Keys held more seduction these days than running agents.

“Not until we have absolute proof about who’s in charge of the rogue operation.” Conrad vacated the futon and went to sit in front of the computer. His fingers poked awkwardly at the keys. “We have incriminating evidence, but if we take it to Allen right now, he’ll sweep it under the rug. The last thing the DCI wants is to face a congressional committee or the Justice Department over improper conduct by the agency that has made him into the man he is. Plus, his buddy, the president, might get a little miffed if anything further damages his popularity poll ratings. Titus is one of the prez’s favorite cronies.”

A nearby HP laser printer began to hum. “Once we get the last bit of proof we need, we’ll give it to the DCI, along with the president, the Inspector General, and, of course, the press.” Conrad paused and looked at her. “We’re going to burn this bastard’s ass and everyone helping him.”

Fear, like an icy finger, ran across the back of her neck. Conrad already knew who had put her life on the line, she was sure of it. “Who do you think the bastard is?”

He picked up the paper the printer had spit out and sat looking at it. She could see him struggle with the impending disclosure. “Is it that bad?”

“Just remember, you wanted the facts, Jules.” He refused to meet her eyes. “Here’s the facts, in black and white, just the way you asked for them.” He pushed the paper he was holding across the table to her.

Unable to resist the magnetic draw of the answer, Julia grabbed it. Thirty or more CIA employee names were listed with their corresponding code names. There, in amongst the benign, was the identical code name on the e-mail that had changed the course of her life.

Director of Operations, Michael J. Stone. Her knees buckled.