The Spy With The Silver Lining

“Why not a sunny island in—”

“Because your bodyguard is familiar with Louisiana. He’s got a house there.”

“With alligators for neighbors.”

“Look at it this way. You won’t have to make an effort to be…nice. You can be yourself.”

At Quest, Casmir was known as the bitch with an attitude, the agent who got away with far more than Polax put up with from anyone else. She didn’t know why that was. She knew agents who had been suspended for speaking their mind. She, on the other hand, had simply gotten Polax’s famous look.

“Does my bodyguard have a name?”

“If I’m not mistaken, you’ve already met.” Polax opened the file on his desk and shuffled through a stack of papers. “Pierce Fourtier was the agent who helped out on the Austrian mission a few months ago. The one you played body double with.”

Not that arrogant jackass. No, Casmir thought. The gods wouldn’t be that sadistic. Give her anyone else. A seven-foot gorilla with body odor, a three-foot circus midget on crutches. A transvestite with a shoe fetish, and better taste than hers. Anyone, just not Pierce Fourtier.

“An excellent operative. I’ve never met him, but his file is quite impressive. Seven years as a rat fighter makes him the perfect troubleshooter to watch your backside.”

“The perfect asshole, you mean.”

“As I said, call him whatever you wish.”

“I can’t work with him. We didn’t get along in Austria.”

“I have no record of that.”

Of course he didn’t—she hadn’t made an issue out of it because she was sure she’d never see him again.

“I’m not asking you to like him. You’re a professional, and professionals put their differences aside. Bring your acting skills along and you’ll do fine. It’s always worked before. Until four days ago, that is. This time the only difference will be that instead of standing out in a crowd, and dining with royalty in a two-thousand-dollar miniskirt, you’ll be blending in to your surroundings. That should lighten your suitcase, and Quest’s expense account.”

That was mean. He knew damn well that she spent money out of her pocket for at least half of her wardrobe.

She should point that out. Point her toe and give him a kick under his oversize desk.

Instead, she asked, “How long will it take to put Yurii back behind bars?”

“If I knew that I’d moonlight as a psychic. The important thing is coming out of this smelling like petunias instead of yesterday’s socks. The eyes of the intelligence world are watching us. We can’t afford to make another mistake where Yurii Petrov is concerned. He’ll be out for blood now.”

“Mine.”

“Well put. He has unlimited resources. Behind every legitimate business he owns there’s a million-dollar fraud in the works. From money laundering, to smuggling, to forgery and counterfeiting. He’s the go-to man every criminal wants as their friend when they need someone to disappear, or a few billion dollars cleaned. To put him out of business we need the location of his headquarters. It’s too bad he never took you there during the months you spent with him.”

He was referring to Nescosto Priyatna. Yurii’s secret sanctuary was still a mystery to the intelligence world, and to her.

“For us to come out of this bungle with our heads high, we’re going to have to get creative. We want his operation destroyed. Until that happens you’ll be vacationing in hell.”

“Hell?”

“Sorry. I should have said heaven. Snake heaven, that is. I’ll keep you up to date on the situation on a need-to-know basis. For now you don’t need to know anything, except what time your flight leaves.”

“Snake heaven.”

“You really are listening. Good.”

Casmir knew Quest’s policy when it came to offering information—only active agents involved in the mission were briefed on the when, where and how.

She didn’t want back in the hot seat, but it was a foolish move to keep her out of the loop altogether. She’d been the only agent to get inside Yurii’s tight circle. She knew his habits. Knew things that hadn’t made it into his file.

She’d gotten close enough to know that he slept on his back, not his belly. Knew what he did first when he got out of bed in the morning, and it wasn’t make a trip to the bathroom. Knew what quenched his thirst above all else, and why he had his shoes custom made, and it wasn’t the same reason she did.

She couldn’t shake that feeling that she always got when the cards in the deck had been switched and she was playing poker, holding a sucker’s hand.

She said, “Now that Yurii’s been burned, it won’t be easy getting close to him. He has plenty of men to do his legwork. Their loyalty is beyond question. And he has Filip.”

“Yes, the brother. Thank you for bringing him to my attention.” He scribbled the name on a piece of paper. “So that’s it, we’re on top of the situation, with every confidence that we have the right bait to make Yurii bite.”

If they were on top of the situation, Yurii would never have escaped his iron cell in the first place, Casmir thought.

Polax looked up and gave her a satisfied smile. “You’re on vacation starting now.”

“But I—”

“There’s no need to concern yourself further. I’m confident this time things are going to go our way. Get comfortable in your new home and take up a hobby. Knitting, perhaps, or maybe cooking. Can you boil water yet?”

She would like to boil him, and the look she gave him said so.

“You won’t be returning to Quest until Petrov’s command center has been destroyed and the final paperwork is on my desk. My advice is to put your feet up and enjoy the time off.”

“I don’t see why—”

“Your argument will be a waste of your time and mine.”

Casmir scalded him with her best bitch look. The problem was by now Polax had become immune to it. But she kept it going.

She’d been given the name royal bitch, which she embraced. She’d had a good teacher. Her mother had written the rule book on bitchdom, and Casmir had read every word.

A weak woman was as vulnerable as a three-legged dog on a fox hunt, Mama had always said. A strong woman knows how to get what she wants. When to add a cup of sugar, or a drop of arsenic.

A confident woman is wrinkle free, walks like she owns the sidewalk and isn’t afraid to kick a little ass when the shoe fits. And if the ass is big, wear boots—preferably a pair you can run in should your aim be an inch or two off and the brute doesn’t go down.

Polax was speaking again. Casmir made eye contact, her eyes snapping like a bitch on fire.

He dismissed the look. “We never know what tomorrow will bring in the intelligence business, Balasi. Four days ago you were the actress. A busy little spy doing what you do best, playing games with a winning hand. But now your cards have been turned over and Petrov knows you outplayed him. Until we have him back, you’re—”

“A prisoner with an asshole jailer.”

“A jailer who has a reputation that gives new meaning to the word survival. I’m confident Fourtier will be able to protect you should your sunny disposition irritate the neighbors and start them hissing.”

Very funny, Casmir thought. If a reptile crossed her path, she was going to shoot it in the head with Yurii’s dependable Gyurza. She still had his gun, with a round of ammo guaranteed to turn Fourtier’s neighbors into leather shoes, complete with matching handbags.