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380 pages, Kindle Edition
Published September 26, 2023
An Update and an Excerpt
Coming September 26th, 2023 (and yes, it can be read stand-alone)
An Excerpt
“Turn on the news.”
Rolm Klemens looked up from the file that was causing him such misery to glare at his assistant as he hustled into Rolm’s office.
Bert ignored the glare and hurried over to the television.
Rolm must be losing his touch.
The set came alive with a bright red Breaking News banner. Some passenger jet had crashed into the ocean less than thirty minutes ago.
What the hell was it with planes going down all of a sudden? His two top agents, he resisted the urge to look down at the file spread before him, had gone down yesterday under conditions that could never be revealed. How was he supposed to explain their deaths?
Even as the Director of the Russia Desk for the CIA, one didn’t stroll into the Director’s office and announce such a thing without having a solution already in place. The bastard was too busy declassifying the Cold War and damaging the CIA in all sorts of creative ways. Rolm couldn’t fight back, but he couldn’t let this get out. No, he wasn’t going to the Director until this one was locked down and fully in the bag.
Wait. Did he have to explain it?
He flipped to the front of the file. Damn it. They had a kid, insurance policies, property, any number of loose threads that could never be allowed to be questioned.
The real tragedy? Nothing could be done to plug the massive intelligence hole that their deaths created. They were irreplaceable.
He stared at the screen as dribs and drabs of information were gathered about the air crash.
Explosion.
A dead 747 plunged into the water off Long Island.
A French class field trip on its way from JFK to Paris.
“Survivors?” the news anchor asked.
After an explosion high over the ocean? Rolm thought the man should be shot for offering false hopes. Nothing but death and confusion would result.
If only he could hide his agents’ deaths there, then—
“Bert!” he shouted so loudly that the man less than five feet away jumped.
“Sir?”
“Was the flight full?”
“What flight?”
Rolm jabbed a finger toward the screen.
Bert twisted his head like that green Muppet frog-thing, first to the screen, then back. Then he glanced down at the file on Rolm’s desk that had been giving them both headaches all day.
He bolted for his desk.
He was back less than five minutes later, and he was smiling. “The flight wasn’t full. Two hundred and ten people and about three hundred and sixty seats.”
Rolm felt like a bit of a ghoul as he returned the smile—just another day at the CIA. “Make it two hundred and twelve. Get them confirmed aboard. Alter paperwork, flight manifests, all of it. Fast, before they can absolutely confirm the number.”
“Assign seats. First class, I think. Fabricate some luggage and sink it in the recovery area…” Bert kept talking to himself as he hurried away. It was the kind of deep cover that the CIA had a whole department dedicated to creating.
TWA Flight 800 would now have two hundred and twelve passenger deaths, not two-ten. The agent’s bodies should be repatriated within twenty-four hours. Divers from a Special Activities Division team could quietly insert them into the wreckage, even snap their seatbelts.
He could always wait for the next director before reporting it so that it stayed hidden; the current idiot couldn’t last much longer. If he was careful, that director might well be him. Then he could add their stars to the Memorial Wall with no one in the wider world any wiser.
Rolm flipped to the first page of Sam and Olivia’s file. The emergency contact was some live-in nanny. Close enough.
He dialed the number and listened while it rang in the hell-and-gone Pacific Northwest.
As the call was answered, Rolm glanced down to find the surviving kid’s name: Miranda.