Her smile wide, she stepped into the office. “If you’re sure. Your face tells a different story.”
Removing his glasses, he rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Am I running late?” He checked his watch, wishing he had the luxury of forgetting this video in favor of the standing dinner date with his wife. But when the President of the United States issued a directive, department heads were expected to drop everything and act immediately.
“No.” She strolled across the room and leaned over his desk to give him a kiss. “I was out this way and thought we could ride to dinner together.”
“That’s fine. I just have one last meeting to take care of first.”
A knock at the door interrupted him. Damn. One of these days very soon he intended to make personal time a priority.
Jo winked at him. “I’ll wait for you at reception.”
“Thanks.” He watched her go, grateful he’d been given a second chance with the one woman who mattered and that she understood the urgency of his work.
Ever the professional, Jo didn’t exchange a word with the man in a charcoal-gray suit who walked in as she walked out.
“Close the door,” Thomas said to his visitor. “And take a seat.”
Specialist Riley O’Brien followed both orders with a quiet “Sir.”
Thomas looked from the image of the Belclare police chief on his computer monitor to the man sitting patiently in front of him. “I appreciate your quick response.”
“Yes, sir.”
Thomas hesitated. One more sign that his decision to retire was the right one. A man in his position couldn’t afford to regret the tasks he assigned, but what he needed from O’Brien was extreme even for a Specialist.
He pushed away his own bias, pushed aside the memories of his own career and focused on O’Brien. All of his Specialists excelled in the obvious areas necessary for a successful covert operative, and each of them had a unique set of skills. It was O’Brien’s distinctive résumé that made him the perfect fit for this operation.
“O’Brien, you’ve been selected as the first agent for a new task force. Before you agree, let me assure you, you can turn this assignment down without penalty.”
The younger man settled a little deeper into the chair, his eyes intent. “Understood, sir.”
Already, they both knew he would agree. Thomas leaned forward, bracing his forearms on his desk. “I’m asking you to take on a deep-cover assignment. We will rework your background accordingly. You’ll keep your name, but your new address will be Belclare, Maryland.”
“On the Chesapeake Bay?”
“You’ve heard the latest news out of Belclare.” Thomas turned his computer monitor around for O’Brien.
“Kind of hard to miss, sir.”
Thomas concurred. “This new team is tasked with embedding agents on long-term assignments where threats are expected.”
“And the end date, sir?”
“None.” Thomas cleared his throat. “In the short term, you are assigned to keep the Belclare police chief, Abigail Jensen, alive.”
“You believe retaliation is imminent?”
“Yes. She’s done a hell of a job, but she’s made herself a target. They might come after her directly or they may attack another target in town to cause trouble first. It could be next week, or next year, or...”
“A decade down the road,” O’Brien finished for him.
“Yes.” On a sigh, Thomas leaned back into the supple leather executive chair and studied the agent on the opposite side of his desk. “Based on the intel, I feel confident you’ll see some action right away, but this is a lifetime commitment I’m asking for.”
“All right.” O’Brien shifted forward, propping his elbows on his knees, his gaze on the floor. “Any backup?”
“Not on the ground.”
O’Brien lifted his gaze to Thomas’s. “Can you be more specific?”
Fair question. “You’ll have a way to upload any relative intelligence to our analysts, but I expect you to take action as necessary to protect our nation’s interests against terrorism. We can give you anything you need. We just can’t be there in under an hour.”
O’Brien nodded his understanding.
“Belclare is too close to D.C. and other valuable targets,” Thomas went on. “We’ve heard disturbing chatter about a sleeper cell in the area.”
“What kind of cause?”
While that wasn’t a question he would typically answer, this wasn’t a typical assignment. “The drug shipment the chief intercepted was meant to fund a known terrorism splinter group gaining a foothold here in the States. Homeland Security has been monitoring Jensen’s email since the speech went viral. Some of the hate mail is too specific for an outsider. Additionally, we’ve tracked a recent shipment of stolen military detonators to Baltimore.”
Throughout his career, Thomas had led by example, never asking more of his agents than he asked of himself. Until today. Looking across the desk, he put himself in O’Brien’s shoes and wondered how he might have responded if he’d been offered a similar assignment in his early thirties. “Take your time, O’Brien. Think it through.”
Normally he wouldn’t drop something like this on an agent with limited field experience, but the key to this task force came down to the ability to blend in. To be the guy next door. Raised in an orphanage, O’Brien had been melding with his community and surroundings his whole life. During his two years as a Specialist, he’d worked behind the scenes, offering physical and technical support during various operations. An agent with less field experience meant the tech experts would have less to scrub away and an easier time rebuilding the personal history. Also in his favor for this particular operation, O’Brien had proved to be a natural when it came to managing explosives.
A few more seconds of silence ticked by and then O’Brien nodded, his gaze resolute. “Count me in, sir.”
“Good.” Especially for the police chief and her town, Thomas mused. “Belclare will be finishing preparations for their annual Christmas Village when you arrive. With your experience in construction, you’ll be able to find work easily.”
“But you want me to stay on in the area after that’s over.”
“Yes. You’ll need to make yourself at home within the community. Chief Jensen will need you, whether she knows it or not. We’ll get the necessary background ready.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Thomas stood and reached across the desk to shake the agent’s hand. “Let me be the first, and quite possibly the only person, to thank you for your service.”
Belclare Police Station
Wednesday, November 30, 9:50 a.m.
Riley measured the span of the double doorway and clipped the tape measure back on his tool belt. He’d picked up work with the company in charge of transforming Belclare into a Christmas extravaganza just as the director suggested. Riley considered his assignment off to a stellar start when he was sent over to decorate the police station.
“She’s in a meeting.” The young cop working the reception desk behind him was having trouble with one of Belclare’s citizens.