Francine Desmond
Action movies weren’t usually Francine’s style. Neither were heavily muscled men, but she had to admit she was enjoying watching Arnold Schwarzenegger’s acting this evening. He actually was showing some range, although the premise was still ridiculous. Who would ever think that the American people would fall for metaphorical bread and circuses? Besides, television shows that featured actual contests tended to fail miserably, unless they were one-time events.
At least the movie claimed to be science fiction, set about thirty years into the future.
Jonathan squeezed her hand, bringing her out of her thoughts, and she scanned the movie theater again. A tip had come in from one of her janitors, who was certain that this particular movie was the one chosen for the hand-off. It had parts that were loud enough to cover up a conversation held in normal tones. Unfortunately, they tended to be the darker-lit scenes. At least they’d been able to sit toward the back without worrying about amorous teenagers; The Running Man was rated R.
A glance at her watch told her they were about two-thirds of the way through, but she hadn’t yet noticed anything remotely suspicious. They were apparently coming up on another loud scene, though, and nervous anticipation skittered up Francine’s spine. This could be when the asset made his move.
Two or three minutes later, she heard the rustling of cloth as a man behind them stood up. A discreet glance indicated he had one hand inside his jacket as he made his way toward the aisle, and there was a suspicious bulge near his waist. Francine tapped Jonathan’s knee, flicking her eyes toward the potential target. He nodded in response, reaching for the small camera located in an inside pocket of his jacket.
After counting to a hundred, she stood up and made her way toward the aisle. Jonathan followed her. “Wait a minute,” he said, loud enough to be heard a row or two away. “Come on, sugar, I didn’t mean it! Sit back down and let’s finish the movie.”
She turned long enough to give him a scathing look as she stalked out of the theater toward the hallway. The other man, the one from behind them, was just exiting the hallway going toward the lobby, and she thanked her lucky stars for the thick carpeting that hid the sound of their footsteps. There was a faint flicking sound behind her, just before she heard the unmistakable ratcheting of film being advanced. Good; Jonathan had seen him too.
It was nice, she reflected, not to have to hide what she did for a living.
In the lobby’s brighter light, she was able to recognize the man from the theater: Yulian Olegovich Balakin, who sometimes used the name “Julian Bracken” in the United States. He was a fairly low-level operative, but young and ambitious. Exactly the kind of person that would gladly take on a simple courier assignment.
“Get ready,” she whispered.
Balakin wandered around the lobby, seemingly looking at the various movie posters. She stayed just inside the hallway, lest she be recognized, but waved Jonathan past her. Her date crossed to the middle of the lobby, staring at the concession menu. From his position, he could easily follow the Russian operative’s movements and have cover from several different angles.
Francine smiled; he was good. No wonder the CIA had been interested in him.
There was a third man looking at the movie posters, carefully keeping his face turned toward the wall. Balakin’s wanderings led him behind that man, and he pretended interest in the same poster, stepping closer to take a better look and inadvertently bumping into him.
Oh, come on, thought Francine. I’ve seen rookies do a better job than that. Although they were quick, the envelope passed between the two men was in plain sight for a couple of seconds. She watched Jonathan for several minutes before he lowered the camera and scratched the back of his neck, the signal for success.
Got him, she thought triumphantly. If Lee could catch enough of the other man’s face after he was outside, they’d also be able to get enough for an ID. She leaned down to fiddle with one of her sneakers as though the laces had come untied. Balakin passed right by her without a second glance. A minute or so later, Jonathan made his way back to her side with a pleased look on his face.
“Good work,” she told him quietly. “And thank you.”
“That,” he answered, “was almost fun.”
After another hundred-count, they joined hands and made their way through the lobby themselves. She vaguely wondered how the movie would end, but it wasn’t worth the cost of another ticket in order to find out. Right now, they needed to make themselves scarce as they headed out to the parking lot.
Lee’s Corvette was in the second row, backed into a spot some distance away from the nearest light pole. The unidentified man had passed right by it before getting into a nondescript car of his own.
Pocketing the camera that Jonathan had given her, she went up and tapped the driver’s side window. “Hey. Scarecrow.”
No response.
“Lee.”
There was a sudden burst of movement in the car before the window rolled down. Lee was blinking rapidly. “Francine.”
“Did you get him?”
“Get who?”
“The man who just walked past your car. Julian Bracken’s still in the movie, but he just passed off an envelope.”
His eyes widened briefly, but then he turned away, running a hand through his hair. “I, ah, I must’ve nodded off.”
“Damn it, Stetson!” she yelled. “You had the perfect shot! Now we have to hope that Ernie can identify someone based on a profile —”
“Francine?” Jonathan, who had initially stayed back beside their own car, came up to the Corvette. “Lee? Is everything okay? I got his license plate number if we need it.”
“Yeah,” she snapped. “We’re going to need it.”
Lee at least had the decency to look embarrassed. “I’m sorry, Francine.”
“I’ll just bet you are,” she fumed. “And I’m not done with you. But this isn’t the time or the place.” She clenched and unclenched her fists. “Are you okay to get home?”
He sighed. “Yeah.”
“Then go. We’ll talk tomorrow.” She’d have plenty to say then.
Lee appeared at her desk around 10:30. “Early lunch? I’ll buy.”
Francine frowned. “You’re not exactly on my nice list right now, Scarecrow.”
“That’s why I’m offering and making it early, too.” He scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Give us both a chance to get it over with.”
That wasn’t exactly how she would have phrased it, but she’d never been the kind to turn down an offer of lunch. After closing her files and locking them in her desk, she shut down her computer and grabbed her purse. “Somewhere nice.”
“How about that new place, Café Leopold? Claims to be serving European-style meals, and it’s in walking distance.”
It didn’t escape her that he hadn’t chosen one of the Agency personnel’s usual haunts, although she kept her silence as he escorted her out of the building and down the street. Lee wasn’t the type to talk much, but his absolute lack of conversation on the way was telling.
After they were seated, he sighed and leaned forward. “All right. Let me have it.”
Her lips thinned. “Kind of hard to get worked up when you’re buying.”
“You can do better than that, Francine.” He met her eyes. “Give it your best shot. I can handle it.”
“Can you?”
He started to reply, but she waved it down.
“No, Scarecrow, I mean it. Can you handle it? Because you’re not the type who’d foul up a simple mission that way. And after the last time you seemed to be a burnout, I don’t know whether to be angry with you or concerned about you.” She paused. “Last night wasn’t a fake. Was it.” It wasn’t phrased as a question because she already knew the answer.
With a sigh, Lee shook his head. He’d dropped his gaze away from hers.
“Look at me, Stetson.”
His eyes flicked up briefly before dropping to the table again.
“Damn it, Lee.”
Something in her tone must have gotten through, because this time he met her eyes long enough for her to see the pain in his. Her anger began fading into worry. Francine sighed. “You know, I’d thought up half a dozen insults to throw at you, but it looks like you’re already doing that for me. So why don’t you tell me what the hell’s going on. I mean, I know that you and Amanda are going through a lot right now, but you’ve both been through stuff before. What’s different?”
“It’s never been this personal before. Not like this, anyway.”
The waiter chose that moment to come take their orders. He chose a steak salad; she opted for a croque monsieur.
“Now do you want to tell me what’s going on?” she asked afterward.
“I, ah…” he trailed off. “It’s just difficult right now, okay?”
“No,” she told him. “It’s not okay. Last night wasn’t a complete disaster since Jonathan got the pictures and the license plate, but using a civilian to get work done is more your style than mine. And I’d have to be blind and deaf not to notice how nas —” Francine caught herself. “Amanda’s been pretty difficult to work with lately. Some people are actually avoiding going up to the Q-Bureau with their filing if they think she might be up there.”
That got his attention. “Who?”
“Well,” she temporized. “I have. I’ve been saving mine for when you’re both out in the field. When you’re not there, she’s like a buzzing hornet’s nest just waiting for a poke.”
“I’ll talk to her.”
“Will that actually change anything?”
He glanced away. “Look, whatever’s between Amanda and me needs to stay there, all right? Just tell me how badly things could have gone last night, how much of a screw-up that was, and that I need to get my act together.”
“I think you’ve bashed yourself enough for right now.” She reached across the table toward his hand. “Come on, Lee. This is me, and you were there for me when I got hit with the Déjà Vu Two. Why won’t you let me return the favor? You know I won’t talk about it with anyone, not when it’s something like this. How are things at home?”
With a sigh, he closed his eyes. “Not good. But that doesn’t excuse —”
“No, it doesn’t, but you know that. There’s no need for me to try and beat that into your thick skull.” She let her concern seep into her voice. “Are you sleeping?”
“Sort of,” he mumbled. “I can’t say it’s restful.”
“Obviously. Are you guys still at your apartment?”
Another sigh. “Yeah. Jamie’s been staying with Joe and Carrie most weekends, but during the week he’s been sleeping on the couch.”
“That can’t be comfortable for anyone. When do you think they’ll be able to go back to her house?”
He gave her a look. “You mean when we’ll be able to go back. I’m not even sure that’s going to happen at all. But Amanda keeps saying it will, and that she just needs more time. Jamie’s about to explode, though. I can see him fuming every time I so much as kiss her cheek, or whenever she takes my hand. She’s also keeping a really tight rein on him. They came home way too early on Halloween. Whenever I try to start a conversation, he just says he has homework and stomps off. I’ve never seen a kid with that much ‘homework’ before, but Amanda just says it’s nice not to have to nag him.”
“Amanda says,” parroted Francine. “What about you?”
“What about me?”
“What do you think of all this?”
A slight edge crept into his tone. “Francine, you’re my friend, but Amanda’s my wife. I’m not going to get into every little detail.”
“I’m not asking you to. I’m asking you what the hell’s going on that left you making such a stupid mistake last night!” She had to work to keep her voice down. “You’re one of our best agents, but that was something even a rookie wouldn’t have done. Or, hell, a civilian. Jonathan noticed, by the way, but I told him it was because you’d gotten a call on your car phone. And since we got enough to identify Tariq al-Sayfawi as the other person last night, there was no need for me to say anything to Billy. But I’m not going to keep covering for you, Scarecrow.”
“You don’t have to!”
“Then tell me what’s going on! I want to help!”
The conversation paused as their food arrived, and then they segued into more neutral topics as if by mutual consent. Perhaps, Francine mused, Lee didn’t want to upset either of their digestions. They’d argued during meals before, but the food here was unusually good and she didn’t want to ruin the experience.
After they finished and Lee paid the bill, they went outside. On the sidewalk, Lee drew her into a hug. “Thank you for going easy on me, and for letting it drop when you did. I really appreciate that.”
“I love you, you know,” she said into his shoulder. It was something she’d wanted to say for a long time, but she’d been waiting for a moment when she knew the statement couldn’t possibly be misinterpreted.
“I know,” he told her. “I love you back. Don’t worry. We’ll find our way through this.”
She leaned back. “I can’t help but to worry about both of you. Amanda’s good for you, Lee, but you can’t let losing her family turn you into a true burnout case. You know those guys almost never make it back. As for her…” she shook her head. “I don’t want to see her career go south before it even begins.”
He bent over and kissed her cheek. “It won’t. I promise.”
Author’s Notes:
- The Running Man was released on November 13, 1987.
- Leopold’s Kafe and Konditorei is located in Georgetown, but it opened in April 2005. Interestingly enough, the development company that owns it really was first established in October 1987.