Page 1 of Spies Don't Fall for Their
CHAPTER 1
HOODIES AND HANDOFFS
LEDGER
Iget to travel to a lot of places as an intelligence operative, andIlove it when my job brings me toPhiladelphia.Thisplace has soul.It’spractically a playground for anyone with a sense of adventure.
Ismile to myself asIcross the one-way street in the heart ofPhiladelphia, heading away from a giant mural on the side of a building toward the ancient building that holds the clothing shop whereI’mmeeting my asset.Inod at a couple of women seated at a small outdoor table in front of the sandwich shop next door asIpass by, and they both make flirty faces at me.Ireturn it with a grin and a wink.
It’sprobably because of my scruff.Myjob requires thatIbe clean-shaven except while on assignment.Sinceit never hurts to have a disguise,Iapplied the stubble during part of the forty-six-minute helicopter ride here.Ithink itlooks pretty good.Obviously, the two twenty-somethings think so, too.
Ofcourse, they could be attracted to the muscles.Mybiceps do a little twitching flex.Theylook pretty good in this shirt, too.
Istep into the shop and glance at the layout of the store like it’s my first time in here— which is true— andI’mtrying to figure out where to go to get whatI’mlooking for.Whichisn’t true—Ispotted my contact the momentIopened the door.Butthere are a dozen or so others in this shop, so the act is for them.
ThenIlet my eyes fall to where my asset is fidgeting in front of a rack of designer hoodies, but his attempts at casual browsing are pretty unconvincing.Ilet my face light up in recognition as ifIjust spotted my long-lost friend somewhere unexpected. “Kolson!”There’san underlying tension between us because of our real purpose here, butIdon’t let it come out in my voice.
Myasset jumps slightly, a clear sign of his frayed nerves, before schooling his features into a smile.It’sstrained and doesn’t reach his eyes, which are currently darting around the shop as if expecting trouble to burst through the doors at any minute.Itdoesn’t surprise me based on our phone call this morning.Weshake hands, transitioning into the bro clasp— a bit too hastily on his part— which is howIknow that his palms are clammy.
“Howare you doing, my friend?”Iask, keeping my tone light, trying to easeKolson’snerves.He’sbeen invaluable over the past several weeks, but seeing him this rattled underscores the risks he’s taken.
“Good.Just… shopping for a hoodie.”
“Oh,”Isay. “Ineed a new one, too.”
Istart looking through the rack, andKolsonleans in and murmurs, “Ifound out that the handoff is going to be right in front ofPaws&Reflect.”
“A‘WhimsicalPetParlor?’”Isay, remembering the tagline of that particular business. “That’swhere they chose?”
“It’sover onMarketStreet, between third and fourth.”Hewipes his brow with the back of his hand.It’sa quick gesture, as if he doesn’t want me to notice that he’s so nervous he’s sweating.
Inod. “Iknow the area.”AttheClandestineServicesAgency, we’ve been tracking some stolen art pieces, and we believe that they’re using the transporting of the art to move illegal arms.Wethink that the caseKolsoncalled me about in a panic might contain smuggling routes or key contacts. “When?”
Kolsonwinces, abandoning the hoodie ruse entirely. “Atone.”
Myeyes widen asIlook at my watch. “That’sin six minutes.”
“I’msorry.It’sthe best noticeIcould give.Iworried that you wouldn’t make it here in time at all.”
Fifty-three minutes ago,Igot a call fromKolson.Hesaid he overheard an associate talking about a handoff for the “AbstractExchange,” the name he figured referred to the art thefts, and he said it sounded like it was going to happen soon.Heplanned to dig deeper whileItraveled, and then meet me here to sharewhat he found.
Iwas on a helicopter heading toward him from theClandestineServicesAgencybuilding inMarylandseven minutes after his call.I’mnot sureIcould’ve made it any faster, butIreally wishIcould’ve shaved a minute or two off the time.
“You’rethe best,”Isay, patting him on his tense shoulder. “Thanks, man.”
AsIwalk toward the back of the shop,Isay in a low voice, “Didyou catch the circus?”
Inmy earpiece, my handler,Kella, who is young, fun, and always exactly specific, says, “Caughtthe tightrope act, andI’vegot eyes on where the clowns are supposed to emerge from their tiny cars.Thehandoff will happen point five two miles from your current location.I’msearching for a cab in the area.”
“There’sno time.I’llrun.”
“What’syour mile time?”
“Sixminutes.”
“Okay, so factoring the corners, both pedestrian and vehicle traffic, you could probably make it in three-and-a-half minutes.”
“Anycameras out the back door?”
