Francine Desmond
If someone had told her, five years ago, that she’d actually be missing Lee Stetson, she’d likely have punched them. Of course, if that person had gone on to clarify that she’d be missing Lee Stetson and his wife, she’d likely have been laughing too hard for the punch to land true. But Francine wasn’t laughing today. Instead, she found herself wishing that the vault really was soundproof, because that would explain why it was so quiet in here. She wouldn’t be reminded that the Q-Bureau’s office itself was equally quiet. She’d actually gotten used to overhearing Lee and Amanda bantering and discussing cases whenever she was working in the files.
Still, the quiet beat the current state of the bullpen, where the newly certified Agent Nancy Zusterakos — one of the candidates who’d come on board during the Sallee case — was busy orienting a newly-arrived consultant from MI6. How was it possible that any adult female could giggle that much? Francine wanted to like Zusterakos, as she was the most promising of the new agents, but the giggling and blushing had finally gotten on her nerves.
She’s just nervous, Francine reminded herself, but she still sighed as she closed one drawer and opened the next. Or I’m becoming jaded. I suppose worry can do that to you.
When Amanda had first come back to work, her snippy demeanor and careless mistakes had been so unlike her that Francine had found herself actively avoiding her again, staying in the bullpen when she needed to be up in the Q-Bureau’s files. As a result, the box next to her desk was full to the point of overflowing.
She’d asked Zusterakos to help with it; the younger agent had said she would, but she almost always seemed to be busy with something else instead. Or someone. It had only served to add to Francine’s annoyance, and the whole situation was wearing on her. Last night, she had snapped at Jonathan over dinner. To his credit, he’d calmly answered by telling her not to take out her distress on him, and she’d apologized. But she was still embarrassed that it had happened.
Then Billy had called her into his office yesterday morning. Lee called in, he told her. He and Amanda are finally going to take that mental health time they’ve been needing. I know you’re scheduled off for Thanksgiving —
Of course, she’d interrupted, surprised at how relieved she’d felt. You don’t need to ask twice. Well, as long as they’ll be back afterward.
He’d confirmed they would be, and in the meantime, she knew there wasn’t likely to be a lot of activity. Even international relations and intrigue tended to die down during winter weather and holiday seasons. She’d pounced on the opportunity to get the teetering stack of folders off of her desk for good, especially since it got her away from Zusterakos’ constant prattle. Was the child too dense to realize the effect of some of her comments, or did she just not care?
Francine shook her head. It didn’t matter; she’d eventually learn better, either by being shut up or by being shown up. It would only be a matter of time. And at least it gave her something to focus on besides the obvious tension between Lee and Amanda. I love you, she’d finally been able to say to him. Lee was more than a friend; he’d become the older brother she’d always wished she had.
That thought brought another laugh to Francine’s lips. If, five years ago, you’d told her that was how things would go, she would have considered it at least as ridiculous as the idea that she could miss his presence.
It was funny, sometimes, how things could go ways you never imagined, and how that was often best in the end. Now if that could just keep being true, she thought. This mental health break boded well for her friends, but long experience had taught her that it might not necessarily be enough to stave off disaster.
Grimacing, she closed the file drawer with more than the necessary force, causing the cabinet itself to rock. Enough dust kicked up into the air to make her sneeze. When was the last time anyone had done anything more than just pick up in here, anyway? Maybe it was a good time for a thorough cleaning, which would give her a convenient excuse to spend even more time away from the bullpen. She wondered if there were cleaning supplies on this floor or if she’d have to go back down into the basement to retrieve them.
That line of thinking caught her off-guard. Amanda, too, had rubbed off on her more than she’d realized.
Shaking her head, Francine went back into the Q-Bureau’s office and sat at Lee’s desk, which she’d cleaned and straightened yesterday afternoon. Someone had left a sealed inter-office envelope in the middle of it since then, and she stared at its large red confidential stamp for quite a while, debating. Confidential was confidential, of course, but what if it was also time-sensitive? Lee’s cases hadn’t stopped just because he was taking time off, and he’d want to know if something important had come up.
It was a rationalization, she knew, but Francine broke the seal and opened the envelope anyway. She’d just look at the first couple of pages to make sure the contents could wait. If they could, she’d put them back.
There was no explanatory note on top, but that didn’t matter; she recognized an investigative report right away. Oddly, though, the format wasn’t typical for the Agency and there was no attribution. She’d just begun to straighten the papers to put them away when a notation caught her eye: The tire fragments were too deformed to show conclusive evidence of the reason for destruction, but a rifle round cannot be ruled out.
Lee was investigating a motor vehicle accident? She wasn’t familiar with any of his cases that included anything like that. Flipping forward, looked for the longer version of the conclusions.
Tread wear or poor maintenance can be eliminated as potential reasons for destruction, it read, as the tires were approximately three months old and had 98% of remaining tread remaining. In addition, the vehicle’s owner is known to conform to proper preventive maintenance schedules. Regardless, evidence shows that the left front tire either exploded or disintegrated at speed. Tire fragments severed the front CV axle, which showed signs of previous mechanical tampering. Axle fracture at a speed consistent with the tire fragment evidence could potentially have led to loss of vehicle control and a rollover.
Another flip forward revealed a page with pictures of the vehicle in question, and Francine caught her breath: it had been a white 1986 Jeep Grand Wagoneer.
It had been Amanda’s white 1986 Jeep Grand Wagoneer, the one her mother was driving when she and her oldest grandson had been killed.
Flipping more pages, Francine checked to see if there were any ballistics findings, making a sound of disgust as she read the Arlington Police Department’s initial report. They hadn’t even done a proper search, instead simply starting with the assumption that the tire had blown out after running over road debris.
However, this mysterious second investigator had done one, and had found two spent 7.92 x 33mm Kurz jackets about three hundred yards back from the accident scene. One had been too damaged to analyze, but the other had markings suggesting the use of a Sturmgewehr 44. Both bullets had been fired sometime in the last three months.
Shaking, she dropped the report. It couldn’t be, could it? Whoever had fired those bullets had used the same kind of old assault rifle as one of the goons at Mrs. Welch’s property, during the case when she’d been drugged to reveal information. They’d found the ballistic evidence in the helicopter once Lee and Amanda had managed to bring it back down. And StG 44s weren’t usually used in the United States…
She had no idea how long it took, but Francine read through the entire report. It was thorough and well-done, but there was no indication of the investigator’s identity. There was no signature, no cover, nothing at all to indicate the source of the information in the report. Presumably, though, Lee knew who had done it, and when he saw this report, he, too, would come to the obvious conclusion.
Phillip King and Dotty West had been murdered, in what looked for all the world like a botched hit aimed at Amanda, Lee, or both of them. Or even, Francine realized with a swallow, the entire Agency as a whole.
“East Germans,” recalled Billy after listening to her report. “But we never did figure out exactly who it was, did we? Other than confirming it wasn’t a Stasi op?”
“No,” she answered. “We were able to find everyone who was carrying out the agent murders and shut down their conduit to the KGB, but the contacts all suicided before we got any more useful intelligence.”
“Which means we have no idea who or what’s behind this,” he finished. “Damn! Get me everything we have on the Welch case and —” Francine dropped three file folders onto his desk. They didn’t have much inside of them. Billy swore again, turning back to the investigative report. “Where did this come from, anyway?”
“It’s not attributed, and the format isn’t Agency. There was nothing to identify the source of the inter-office envelope.” She paused. “Billy, you weren’t letting Lee investigate this on his own, using his own network, were you?”
“Yeah,” he admitted. “I was.” With a sigh, he leaned back and rubbed one of his temples. “Both of us felt like it was hinky, but Arlington PD had closed the case as an accident. I couldn’t justify officially re-opening it without additional evidence.”
She nodded; that explained why it had taken several weeks to get the investigative report back. It had been done informally, and probably outside of work hours. “Well, it looks like we have justification now.”
“Yeah, I know. Even if it still circumstantial. But since this came in after Lee and Amanda left…”
“…they have no idea they’re in danger,” she finished.
“Are they, though?” asked Billy after a moment’s thought. “There’ve been no attempts on either of them since the accident — er, murder.” He shook his head. “They were headed out of town for a few days. He didn’t say where, and I didn’t want to ask. But it’s just the two of them. Amanda’s son is staying with his father for Thanksgiving.”
“Thank goodness for small favors.”
“Assuming he’s safe there.”
“Why wouldn’t he be?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” answered Billy. “But this isn’t unofficial now. Nor is it going to be worked off the books. Not anymore. Go hit the computer and run all the information we have about East German groups in the area. Get Zeta to help you collate the details; she’s almost as good as Amanda when it comes to seeing patterns.”
“Zeta?”
“Zusterakos. I thought you knew about that.”
“She’s already got a code name?”
“Not officially. But that’s what they’ve been calling her.”
She suppressed a shudder. “I’ll be fine on my own.”
“Francine.” He met her eyes. “That wasn’t a suggestion, no matter how embarrassed you are about being —”
She cut him off. “That’s not it. But isn’t she still babysitting that MI6 agent?”
“No, he’s off on his own right now. Working on that computer crime task force with State and the Office, so he’s not going to be around here much. She needs something to do.”
“I’m sure there are other things that are just as important,” replied Francine. “I just — Billy, really. I can work this one on my own. Zusterakos — Zeta — doesn’t know Lee or Amanda as well as I do, and once they’re back, I can talk directly to them about this report and what it’s suggesting.”
“No,” he replied evenly. “You can’t. And that’s exactly why I want you with someone else, Francine. Use Fielder or Beaman, if you don’t want to ask Zeta, but do not work this alone. There’d be too many suggestions of favoritism if you did.”
Her mouth dropped open. “I would never —”
“You know that and I know that, but the auditors don’t. I’m not going to argue with you about this. Who’s it going to be? Zeta, Fielder, or Beaman?”
Francine thought for a long moment before sighing in defeat. “I guess it’ll be Zuster…Zeta. She has the best organizational skills.”
“Think of it like a mentorship,” he suggested.
He was trying to be helpful, she knew, but this was going to be more like a jail sentence than a mentorship. Of course, Billy had been hinting at partnering her up recently, and she knew she needed to do some more work in tandem with junior agents if she wanted to be promotable when the time came. But with someone as green and bubbly and silly as she was? Who asked all kinds of irrelevant questions and had a knack for making tactless comments without meaning to?
She wouldn’t be able to close this particular investigation fast enough.
Author’s Note:
- The Sturmgewehr 44 was one of the first (possibly even the first) assault rifles to be successfully put into mass production. It was developed for the German Army during World War II.