Run Girl: Ingrid Skyberg FBI Thrillers Prequel Novella (3 page)

A mumbled voice responded from outside. “Step away from the door, ma’am.”

“What?”

Ingrid gestured for Lucille to move further into the room.

The lock clicked and the door slowly opened. The Marine looked at both of them in turn. “Anything I can help you with?”

“I don’t appreciate being locked in here.”

“It’s protocol, ma’am.” He started to close the door. “Nothing for you to worry about.”

“Wait!” Lucille shouted.

“Ma’am?”

“How long are we going to be in here?”

“I don’t have that information.”

“Well can you go find that inform—” The door closed on her. “What the hell?” She looked at Ingrid, as if she might be able to explain.

“Franklin told us he’d be right back. Why don’t we sit down, take a breather, huh?” Ingrid had never seen Lucille this twitchy before. But then she’d never seen her without a cell phone either.

“What if one of the girls needs to get in touch with me while we’re locked away in here?”

“I’m sure we won’t be here that long. Besides—you just checked in with them. Everything’s fine back home.”

“I’m sorry.” She sank back down onto one of the couches. “I always promise them I’ll be contactable whenever I’m away on these trips. It’s the only way I can avoid tears and tantrums when the car arrives to take me to the airport.”

Ingrid snapped the lid off a bottle of water and handed it to her colleague. “Let’s give it ten minutes or so, shall we?” She grabbed a water for herself and sat down. She glanced around the room. There were no pictures or photographs decorating the walls, no rug to break up the dark surface of the wooden floor, and the ceiling was covered in foam tiles. The space certainly wasn’t designed for comfort. Ingrid checked the corners of the ceiling and spotted a burglar alarm sensor attached to the corner nearest the door. Diagonally opposite was a sprinkler outlet. That had to be where the cameras were concealed. Ingrid assumed she and Lucille had been placed in the room for observation. Some kind of test ahead of assignment. Why else would they have been abandoned like this? She tapped Lucille on the arm, made eye contact, then looked deliberately toward the sprinkler corner of the ceiling.

“What is it?” Lucille said, for some reason completely oblivious to Ingrid’s cue.

“Nothing at all.” Ingrid looked again toward the corner of the room, made eye contact again and tilted her head, willing Lucille to understand her this time.

“Are you feeling OK?”

Come on
!

Ingrid slumped back onto the couch. “I’m perfectly fine. Just checking you’re all right.”

“I’d be better if I knew the door wasn’t locked and there wasn’t a six feet tall armed Marine on the other side of it.”

“I’m sure the assistant deputy chief has important strategic work to do, while he assesses the situation. And the personnel involved.” Again she glanced up toward the corner of the room.

“You would have figured he’d done that already. Otherwise why waste our time?”

It was hopeless. For some reason—maybe she was preoccupied worrying about her kids—Lucille’s powers of perception had deserted her.

Lucille checked her watch. “Ten minutes and then I’m breaking down the door.” She peered into her purse and pulled out a scrap of paper and a pen.

“What are you doing?”

“Making a list of all the questions for
 
Franklin. Though I’m not sure this piece of paper is big enough.”

Ingrid had plenty of questions herself. But a mental list would do just fine. As she sat there and absent-mindedly watched Lucille’s pen scratch across the paper, Ingrid started to wonder why they’d chosen her and Lucille ahead of Kevin. He was just as experienced an agent. He had more years on the clock than Ingrid. Since the beginning of the trip he hadn’t stopped mentioning the fact he was coming up to his tenth anniversary at the Bureau.

The only thing Ingrid and Lucille had in common was their gender. Ingrid was much more similar to Kevin than Lucille. Neither of them had kids, they both lived alone, they were both single. Ingrid blinked and opened her eyes wide. How could she have thought that about herself? She’d been engaged to Marshall for just under a year.
Unmarried
. That’s what she’d meant. Both she and Kevin were unmarried. But they selected the two female agents—why? And why were they observing them like this? To see how they interacted? It seemed a little strange. What were they hoping to learn?

She settled back on the couch and took a long gulp of water. Then tried to tune out the mumbling of her colleague and attempted to trawl her mind for any scrap of information she’d ever learned about the FBI’s mission overseas. The training course she’d been helping facilitate up until an hour ago was part of the program. Spreading Bureau best practice across the world was one of its aims. She knew that Sol Franklin had to be part of the Legal Attaché program. He’d be reporting to the chief of mission at the embassy. She also knew that more and more, the FBI’s role within US embassies around the globe concerned counterterrorism and counterintelligence, with most of the Bureau’s personnel dedicated to matters of national security.

But what could that have to do with her? Or Lucille? She wondered why the situation Sol Franklin had referred to couldn’t be dealt with by any of their existing agents. Instead, they’d disrupted a training session to recruit agents from the Violent Crimes Against Children Program. Could the problem be related to a pedophile ring here in the UK? But why not include Kevin if that were the case?

Ingrid would have loved to discuss the issue with Lucille, but not with Sol Franklin potentially listening in. Instead, she decided it wise to keep her own counsel.

Fifteen minutes later Lucille was on her feet again, pacing the room. At the ten minute mark Ingrid had managed to persuade her that giving the assistant deputy chief another five minutes was a sensible thing to do. She doubted the same approach would work a second time. Just as Ingrid got to her feet, determined she should be the one to talk to the Marine stationed outside, the lock clicked and the door opened.

A grinning man in a smart gray suit and open-neck shirt stood in the doorway. A pair of Aviator sunglasses hung ostentatiously out of his breast pocket. Ingrid noticed his dark brown hair was cropped close to his scalp on either side of his head, with a flamboyant quiff of longer hair balanced on top. He was clean shaven, but his beard was already trying to push through his chin and cheeks. The man had a ten a.m. shadow. “Thank you so much for your patience, agents. I can only apologize for the wait.” He had an English accent.

“Where’s the assistant deputy chief?” Lucille barked at him.

“Sol’s been unavoidably delayed, I’m afraid. He sent me in his stead.” He smiled at Lucille then Ingrid, his gaze lingering a little longer on Ingrid’s face than she was entirely comfortable with. “Agent Skyberg, would you mind coming with me?”

6

Ingrid tilted her head and frowned, but didn’t make a move toward him.

Lucille stepped forward instead. “I’m not staying a minute longer in this goddamn cell.” In two strides she was practically toe to toe with the English guy. “Are you getting out of my way voluntarily, or do I have to make you?”

Ingrid smiled to herself. Lucille was no more that five feet five, even in heels. But doubtless she could take on a six feet two British spook in a suit with no trouble at all.

“I have no intention of imprisoning you, Agent Gardiner.” He smiled at her again, his teeth remarkably even and bright white. They almost sparkled in their perfection. Ingrid decided once he was through with MI6, he could audition for the next James Bond movie. He stepped to one side to let Lucille into the corridor.

Ingrid followed her out. “What’s happening?”

“All will be explained shortly.”

“Why the mystery?”

“Oh—no mystery at all. Just a little disorganization, I’m afraid.”

In the corridor they were confronted by another tall Marine. This one held all of Lucille’s electronic equipment in a small transparent plastic bag.

“This charming young man will escort you to the car waiting in the basement,” the Englishman told Lucille.

“What?”

“We’re so sorry to have disrupted your day.”

“We?”

“I’m speaking on behalf of the assistant deputy chief.”

“That’s it? You just want me to leave now?”

“Thank you so much for your time.”

Lucille seemed almost disappointed to get her gadgets back and be released, even though she’d been talking about nothing else since they’d arrived. She could Skype her kids all day long now if she wanted. Ingrid tugged the plastic bag from the Marine’s grasp and pushed it into Lucille’s hands.

“Get out of here before he changes his mind.”

Lucille looked blank-faced into the bag, then up at Ingrid. “I guess. But what about you?” She turned toward the British guy. “What are you planning to use Ingrid for?”

“I’m afraid I can’t divulge sensitive information. I’m sure you understand.” There was the
 
bright white smile again. “Agent Skyberg? We should really be getting on.” He nodded to Lucille, half-saluted the two Marines, and strode down the corridor. “If you’d like to follow me, agent?” he called over his shoulder.

Ingrid jogged to catch up with him.

A few minutes later they’d traveled two floors in the elevator, hurried down another wood-paneled corridor and were standing beside a tall rosewood door. The smartly dressed spook rapped on the door and pushed it open without waiting for a reply. He gestured for Ingrid to enter ahead of him.

Ingrid stepped into the room to discover Sol Franklin sitting behind a wide, untidy desk in front of a large window, the wooden-slatted shades pulled down. He was beaming at her. He stood up and pointed to a high-backed chair on the other side of his desk. “Nick’s been looking after you, I hope?”

Ingrid turned to see the Englishman quietly closing the door. “I’m afraid
Nick
didn’t get a chance to introduce himself.”

“I can’t believe my manners have been so lacking.” The man strode toward her, his arm extended. He shook her hand. “Nicolas Angelis, Lead Advisor, Fortnum International Security, at your service.”

Not a spook, then. At least not on the UK government payroll. Why was the US embassy using private security agents?

Angelis only released her hand after he’d given it a good firm squeeze. He winked at her. “My friends call me Nick.” He walked to the left side of Sol Franklin’s desk, folded his arms and leaned casually against a walnut file cabinet. One corner of his mouth twitched upward.

“I guess it’s about time we told you why you’re here.” Sol Franklin opened a desk drawer and pulled out a cardboard file. He shoved away some of the clutter from the space immediately in front of him and carefully laid the file on the desk. He cleared his throat. His congested cough sounded as though he smoked two packs of cigarettes a day. “So… the situation we find ourselves in…” He templed his fingers and pushed them under his chin. “Wait, let me start that again. The situation as it stands… Aw hell, there’s no diplomatic way of saying this. We’re in a goddamn crap hole. Somebody screwed up big time and it’s up to us to pick up the pieces.” He laid his stubby-fingered hands flat against the file.

Ingrid wondered who exactly he was referring to when using the word ‘us’. The US? The embassy? The Bureau? And what the hell could it possibly have to do with her?

Sol Franklin cleared his throat again and said, “You may or may not be aware that the Secretary of State is in Strasbourg at the moment—that’s in France, just in case your European geography is a little rusty—leading very delicate peace negotiations. It’s taken a long time to get the various warring factions to even agree to set foot in the same country, let alone the same room… but right now they’re battling head to head across a conference table, with the Secretary of State acting as a… global referee.”

Ingrid let go of the breath she’d been holding, still unclear how any of that impacted on her. What could she add to any negotiations? She said nothing, hopeful Franklin would get to the point soon. She shifted in her seat and crossed her legs. Out of the corner of her eye, she sensed Angelis lean forward.

“Can I get you anything, Ingrid? Coffee? Water?” he asked.

“I’m perfectly fine, Mr Angelis.” She deliberately chose not to use his first name. The point wasn’t lost on him. With one eyebrow raised, he leaned back against the cabinet.

“The Secretary of State traveled to France accompanied by her granddaughter,” Franklin continued. “Not normal protocol, by any means.” He patted the file beneath his hands. “In fact, it’s highly irregular and should never have been allowed to happen. But it did.” He let out a long, disappointed sigh. “Apparently the girl has been having some… issues at home. She and her parents don’t see eye to eye—about very much at all. So I guess her grandmother must have thought it would be a good idea to distract her with a little European high culture.”

“And doubtless a lot of shopping,” Angelis chimed in.

“Quite possibly. Whether she was in Paris to look at the paintings in the Louvre or the shops along the Avenue Montaigne, is kind of beside the point right now.” He stared Ingrid in the eye. “The girl is missing.”

7

Ingrid gazed back at him, speechless and motionless. Her mind was swirling with so many questions she was glad she was sitting down. The girl could have been abducted by any one of a number of organizations: terrorists, any variety of European mafia, from post oligarchy Russian to the old fashioned Sicilian kind, regular domestic criminal extortionists, religious fundamentalists.
Holy crap
. It was a diplomatic disaster.

“Missing?” she finally managed.

“She was assigned a private bodyguard paid for by her grandmother.”

“Why weren’t Diplomatic Security guarding her?”

“As the girl isn’t officially deemed a close relative, the personnel looking after the Secretary of State couldn’t be used to protect her granddaughter. The State Secretary can’t be seen to be misusing tax payers’ money and all. The guard assigned to protect her clearly wasn’t up to the job.”